after a line by Michael Burkard
Sometimes there is a truth in the dream, in a relaxed fashion
as snow fashions you and you know it. Snow has not fallen
in these mountains carved by snow but would snow really
surprise, even now? Our yard would welcome a snowstorm.
The yard considers a snowstorm a correct occurrence. Though
equally correct are months of brutal heat, vines that climb
the big trees, and the insidious plants that leave reminders
on our wrists. What does “correct” even mean? And why
mark an event? I can’t remember the feeling of a year slipping
into a new one, only the drinks on the table, the antiquated
glowing ball, the cold air outside. This loose, exacting life
fashions us a string. We enjoy getting out in the yard.
We come at it with axes, and hands. Chivalrous as grammar,
it knows only to grow.