103. last night, in my sleep, it snowed

 

 

or it didn’t | snow and I dreamed

of snow | or it was summer

the heat still with us | but fall coming

so comes the next phase | of life

trees shedding | their tresses

color turning from green | to browns

yellows | somber | as we wait

as we await | the return of the virus

or not | or the virus on the arm of

the flu | or some other contagion

maybe only | a defect of the mind

as humans have | the creation of

hate | so the blood warms enough

to keep the body | going or

a people who believe | whatever

it is they want | to have whatever

world they believe in | all we know

is it is | not the world | we have

and not one | we want to inhabit

we aree not sure | we even want this one

 

sunlight | is a defect of darkness

which tries to shut us | out

or down | or off | anything blind

and empty | and the light comes

in small pulses | now

something like hope | but

in the shape of a snail | not

that it is slow | instead

it is easy to crush | simple to kill

even accidentally | and maybe

it was an accident | how

could we imagine | otherwise?

how could they take | it away from

us so quickly? | did we even know

we once had it? | did we know

what it was? | it persists

as a form of desire | one

that takes nothing | away but

maybe leaves us | with nothing

to hold | to hold onto anymore

 

I do not believe in winter | which

is the oldest of myths | because

cold kills a body | so slowly but

so well | we live in an age of

belief | where everyone believes

something counter to | whatever

everyone else believes | we war

against belief | the best of us

deny belief | allowing its body

to rot in the sun | but if the cold

comes in | good and hard

that body of belief | just might

not die | might fester and

spread | because the most

dangerous virus | is carried only

in the human | mind

not the body | not even the brain

everyone is infected | we are too

late | zombies are running for us

running barefoot | through snow