Day 14

the ice covering my street is no respite
we wear down our pencils ticking boxes

on impossible lists: peace, like quiet nights
are notions typed into inaccessible documents

by uniformed bureaucrats
following the form of letterless laws

Day 15

tell me dear road dog of where my feet are going
I stopped my psychological cartography

somewhere south of a nameless town
where the diner and church are closed

for perpetual renovation and
all the stop lights on Main Street

blink
yellow

Day 16

the only advice forward comes from old radio detectives
god speaks through the great blue heron’s absence

we sit here both thawing and freezing
waiting for a snowfall mixed with ashes from the west