Monday moonday

silver opportunity

somebody loves me

eels in the channel

sky for breakfast

Lent never ends

folklore though is

always beginning.

Please understand

a single sentence

with a million verbs,

this little village

bodiced in snow.

The baker breathes

secrets into her bread,

already the snow

plow grates and grinds,

obedient, the sky

brightens.  Day

is a strange song,

faintly familiar,

merry words

to a sad tune.

2.

O I aspire

says the blue fire

under the saucepan

O I desire

says the husband

waiting to plunge

the teabag in.

3.

Go back to bed and wait—

eventually your vocabulary

will wake up,

stretch its syllables

and you will be magister again,

an ambassador from pastness,

you think of Schumann,

Wittgenstein, and cross

yourself tentatively—

endless churchyard

of the documented earth—

and all the words you never heard.

18 February 2019