“12th of February, waiting on spring”
February night the color of jackdaws
the color of sleep under blankets
the taste of dreams.
Names are lost
faces blurry and puffy
like bad teeth in photos
from another age.
Peace was the last bit of silver,
a touch of sun.
It may rain today
If the sky can work up the
courage, the listless desire
to damp and sparkle.
the earth will devour us.
Nodding to the drum shots in the song,
realizing that the Bo Diddley beat is just a
Knowing that there are eight hundred and three beats in
one of my favorite songs,
Sing it loud.
Know that there are six million four hundred thousand and fifty-three
since I last saw you.