Saturday, February 14, 2004

from The Sweet Bite of Morning
FEBRUARY 1, 2001

Originally published in Poetry Motel

The days lengthen: sunlight
rips and races early,
dawdles in the evening.
We have just enough hur-

rah of sky to cheer the
new month coming on. We
have such sharpness of air,
this frost tight to windshield.

Now my fingers are chunks
like the meat we forgot
to thaw for dinner. Red
house, chill wind, a far sun.

These could be the answer.
What would be the question?

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