for all the chili cheese dogs in France

i am the sun by the way of the night

ecstatic impulse limited by the loss

and at fault lie remaining reminders

of the frost and the bitter winds grinning

as they set fire to cheekbones and knuckles

fingertips seek shelter in palms

all wrongs rewritten in immaculate penmanship

eyesight lingers near the ice covered creek

so quiet i can hear my cigarette implode

yesterday remembers far better than i

the skeletal hands of the treeline

its careless grasping for answers

truth lies entombed in a drift

the fascination to find it waning

like a sweet dream immediately forgotten

its aura dissipated

rued like your letter goodbye