Poems 1960-2010

SILVER THAW

at just midnight
the rain stopped
wasn’t wet:
32° made
ice on all signs, aerials, wires
and fire hydrants

this happened too:
the moon’s nimbus
froze onto the ice
of an elm
moon stuck
in the elm’s crotch

impulse towards
hatchet, blow-torch

but why should
I and why
should I