XX

A poem inspired by poet Mark Strand

Through my window the trees stand bare,

No clothing covers limbs, swaying

Back and forth, waltzing with wind.

 

In the frigid air I can survive,

But in time dries and withers,

Dribble running from nostrils.

 

Cracked with cankers,

Licked lips,

Facing the blistering of a burned face,

 

The moon drifts northward, lividly

Behind the gray stratus clouds,

Losing dusk and welcoming night.

 

I seal twenty minutes of tranquility,

Heat within me clears the cold,

As I remove both hands from the glass.