I know you are

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End of year looks like rain its sullen
in the forest of your hair its rumpled outside
not like in here where you care for the wind turner
is that a waking thing closing the year fallen over oak and tapestry?
she 'does' bread to fire the limb of husband and mate maternal
her final rose ascending flame
wicked to hibernate winter's ornery coat
a bonfire to your bon-bons
clapping clandestine to its only ruly coat




He said I rue it I rue it Park avenue its trees memory a sacrosanct
place meaning its time go away
I hear the chug of tram way
its the gold cup fair way to his heart


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