cold comes in, always a surprise
when its vine is in your marrow
(you know)

it's as if the wind has permeated
like a feeling that photoshops the cosmos
into love, ambition, restlessness,
nothing rearranged but everything
touched and retouched
down to the space
between the subatomic whirlygigs...

my fingers, His fingers
touching the earth...
could have been a night like this,
upstate New York bearing deep witness
to the endemic pandemonium
of beauty, as expressed in modern dance of
shivers
rippling the hot mug enclosed
in these old two-step kind of bones