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
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.