Wednesday, February 15, 2017

Two Octets from Early February

ice storm morning octet

beyond window glass, gray clouds shifting northwest;
ice glaze on the asphalt still gathers fragments

from lights not yet extinguished as day rises:
the cedars sway in their row, keeping tempo,

then halt—four crows strut the lot, a fifth glides on
imagined wind; last night, frozen staccato

tapping the window screen; these alien codes,
these shingles gone white, these dreams that don’t wake up


6th ave octet

rainwater plunges from terracotta cornices,
hits the brick sidewalk, a window atomized—

across the avenue a single green bike
locked & fragile where Corinthian columns

rise higher than catenaries—whirling stream
sweeps leaves past the curb;  bus shelter roof glass

multiplies water fractals, frozen, liquid:
above, white icicles on one plane tree branch

Jack Hayes
© 2017

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