Telling the Future
He was bread-tongued with
the distance between words
and tenderness was measured
by a patch of frost and a wide window.
He was muddy-mouthed with
and gathered those soft c’s
into undivided lines
like soldiers with searchlights.
Afternoons resembled the hints
he gave, black
coffee grounds and honey-
combed thoughts, he was a luminous darling,
an Old Testament God,
a brimstone prophet of fire:
even the birdsong turned violent,
even the birch filled with flesh.
Sometimes, what we want and need can
come in the same season.
Sometimes, we don’t know if it’s snowing
or if our eyes are playing tricks on us.