Variations on Loneliness 

A white light spalls through the drab.

            Curtains beige and stiff. Outside, limbs,

ground aglow—a lean of snow carved
             by a dim wind. Tires hiss the wet asphalt.

            In pining for the slow hum of gears— 

a rumble in the cavern of ear—low hung

            limbs vein distance. Pumpjacks gnaw

at dirt, a dreary run of hours, the brush

            bending, dustless.

Light and sound shaping the blackness— 

            sometimes distance is a malady

fraught with undazzling clank. As to skim

            slick misty bark, or hum a tune of rot.

            I envy dreams that cleave well-bred 

spells of woe, that vector ache, and rifle

            the banal into dusks ornamented

with kindling. As to argufy small oblivions

            culled and speared by ocherish glint.