Poem-A-Day: Day 18

Winter Nights

The air smells cold
and the wind calls my name in frigid whisper.

My gloves are on,
but I still feel the sting
of the freeze
tingling fingers
and soul alike.

I take two steps
and numbing air tells me to take ten more.

The wind doesn’t know,
but it tries in vain
to intercept
my veins and thoughts
with a chilling desperation.

My feet are a burden
and I wonder if walking has turned to bitter conversation.

I lay down to death,
but it’s no less a yoke
than it is
some joking anxiousness
waiting to be heard.

The algid air winks
and reaches out to me with compassionate boreal grace.

Poem-A-Day: Day 14

Sudden Stops

Two black marks
on the gray pavement;
tire tracks that fell just short
of inevitable ruin,
or remarkable, agonizing luck.
The cement median
is unscathed,
not fazed
by whatever may have transpired,
or almost…
I can look at these marks,
and put myself in place
of whatever may have happened,
if only because I am a dreamer,
and my dreams often suffer
the same inglorious demise.
It’s a bitter battle,
loving the friction
that keeps me held in place,
and the sudden
fear of realization
that takes me from it.