Thursday, December 31, 2009

End Ice

 

Rain makes

unanticipated patterns

on the windows

like broken glass.

And on the street

windshields

like cobwebby ice.

The old man inside

is laughing.

Or coughing.


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what we are built for

in the days when the kids were smaller and my parents younger and they lived here  six months of the year                                   ...