AT FIRST CHANCE
At first chance, the endings begin, the
stories expand, the meanings become distorted.
Bedeviled by a morning's light, I summon the
strength to look up. Above me, in the approaching
light, great white puffs of cloud go silently
scudding by in front of the yet-dark sky,
while behind them, just barely, I can pick out
the wane of a sinking moon. Nearby, someone's
red car, in its own darkness, idles numbly at the
curb, the very thin coat of frost on its windshield,
recently scraped. In the darkness passing, hidden
somewhere in a nearby tree, the solitary morning
whistle of a single bird alone alights the air. I
am cold, and chiseled in my feelings as my
cold body's demeanor. I hunch for warmth
as I walk, a single slumming morning shadow
of a figure, like black on black on the
velvet chalkboard of night.
At first chance, the endings begin, the
stories expand, the meanings become distorted.
Bedeviled by a morning's light, I summon the
strength to look up. Above me, in the approaching
light, great white puffs of cloud go silently
scudding by in front of the yet-dark sky,
while behind them, just barely, I can pick out
the wane of a sinking moon. Nearby, someone's
red car, in its own darkness, idles numbly at the
curb, the very thin coat of frost on its windshield,
recently scraped. In the darkness passing, hidden
somewhere in a nearby tree, the solitary morning
whistle of a single bird alone alights the air. I
am cold, and chiseled in my feelings as my
cold body's demeanor. I hunch for warmth
as I walk, a single slumming morning shadow
of a figure, like black on black on the
velvet chalkboard of night.
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