a perfect storm

Suburban street

where a slick mash

of ice and sleet

is falling, cars

geared down, tree

branches sagging

and a wind that

seems phlegmatic

suffers through

the night, roofs

glazed, the cold

numbing to those

out in it, man and

dog, patrol officer,

an insomniac who

seeks the silence

of God but hears

a distant siren

wailing her name:

what falls might

be the dust of stars,

chips of light,

crystals swirling

piecemeal

in a brain-

storm I might

only have

imagined

 

--Miguel de O

 

Done