Sleet spots the window like errant stars
like whispers of a confidence
betrayed. No mailman or savior
going to live this weather down.
No use asking God to deliver another
morning. No Special Orders.
No raising your hand when no one’s
going to call on your sorry ass.
All the hard buds stalled aquiver.
Somebody asking, do you remember?
And you don’t. Sky eraser. Blood
tease. A promise slipping through
fingers into a plunge, all those spots
merging into the unnamed river
we all have a name for, having
rode it alone in the dark,
having contributed our tears,
having justified silent dreams.
Having paddled against the current,
abandoned the paddle.