Ambiguous light falls upon
an unsuspecting hour.
Memory, that silver star, refuses
her curtain calls. I am
enchanted by a spiral stairway—
shadow play
before and beneath it—
and a single candle.
It is snowing. Looking out the window- I sit in my room waiting (no car, unmotivated [city on COVID lockdown], oh well). The snow looks like Dippin Dots. It rests on our balcony. My wife went out, came back in; now cotton candy-like fluff all over. Only water. I wish I had my car but I really don't have anywhere I want to go. My eyes drift to the yellowing leaves, intermixed with fading greens. The ivy, by contrast, is going red. I want my car. I have nowhere to go. Without it, I feel stranded in the middle of a desert.
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