outside in dream gloss
lighted semis charge
silently across the frozen
river, golden homes
we will put wind
farms at the head
of the island, at the top
of the house
we talk honestly
in flight

skateboarders on bridge
down to low tide rocks

praying to boxcars
on water street that
sorrow be ended

a dead seagull in the
ground, wings up
a bouquet of white