February Elegy

This bald year, frozen now in February. This cold day winging over the ugly Imperfect horizon line, So often a teeth line of ten buildings. A red flag flapping In the wind. An orange curtain is noon. It all hurts her eyes. This curtain is so bright. Here is what is noticeably true: sight. The face that looks back from the side Of the butter knife. A torn-bread awkwardness. The mind makes its daily pilgrimage Through riff-raff moments. Then, Back into the caprice case to dream In a circle, a pony goes round. The circle's association: There's a center To almost everything but never Any certainty. Nothing is More malleable than a moment. We were Only yesterday breathing in a sea. Some summer sun Asked us over and over we went. The sand was hot. We were only yesterday tender hearted Waiting. To be something. A spring. And then someone says, Sit down, We have a heart for you to forget. A mind to suffer With. So, experience. So, the circus tent. You, over there, you be the girl In red sequins on the front of a card selling love. You, over there, you, in black satin. You be the Maiden's Mister Death.