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Promise of Snow

ISSUE:  Spring 2009

I’ll still first go to the window when I wake.
I can stay at it all night, unnerved by the same old ache
And never two alike. That sky that is a lake,

Elided by trees and ambient neighborhood light,
Eludes me—like driving towards some vacation site
And damned if this route is right. This can’t be right,

I know, this looking to get away to the lake,
Thinking I can make it there. I know I can’t make
It come to me, but I think that’s what it’ll take.


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