The Orange Room Review (Online) April 2013
I spent the night, head filled with numbers and
dreams of numbers, and in the
frozen morning
--new snow on all the branches--I'm filled with
numbers
still: readout on the oil tank, wattage
of the feeble lightbulb, what part of
the pound
of coffee remains until I'm drowning in a sea of
numbers too
great to reckon.
Five new inches
of
snow at the end of April, the month pretending
to be March, going out like a
lion on all fours,
temps in the lower double digits. Five new inches
of
snow, even though the moon has orbited the
frogpond almost half a dozen times
already
since the new year's turn. Five new inches of
snow on the three or
four places we'd reserved
for delphinium and columbine, for roses,
lilies,
and various summer whatnot.
All the world's awash
in white. April's almost over; I'm counting on
May.