DECEMBER 8, 2013
It's cold. Christ's wet eyes . . .
chiseled with snowflakes
each light in the dark rising up
over the bay
she leaves and the UFOs come out
the last few puffs of exhaust
"Ah yes, the sister who complained a lot"
I look out at all the boats
And yet I am okay, mother. The November
tornadoes did not kill me.
Lapland Longspurs at the Washington Monument
18 minutes ago