weather report sutra

at the corner bamboo stands thin in 
its galvanized tub
                      white ice sheathes frail
green leaves—people cross the street unsure
steps in crust & slush
                      & puddles casting back
reflected gray feathered clouds no blue
in clear air between
                      on the phone this morning
3,000 miles east that sort of time zone
time travel you spoke
                      about snow falling that
man walking hunched & dogged through it
daily, his head down—
                      you are beyond that: this snow’s
something to talk about & jigsaw puzzle
pieces yellow red white a
                       perplexing flower bed—my first
memory walking with you through the
meadow beyond the Chinese
                      elms the black-eyed Susan
in bloom, the world blossoming, a daisy—
these days when you sob, your
                      breath comes short & indignant—
at the bus stop this afternoon gusts shake
ice from weeping birch:
                      shatters on asphalt at my feet—
raw air, my lungs sting—as you often
remark your window faces the west


Jack Hayes
© 2016