Took a walk down 75th

street & suddenly I wanted

to buy pizza. For heat &

something to push my tongue

through. I was thinking of you

while the sun was thinking

of how the trees remain

despite themselves. I want to be

plainer. Like simple verbs

of snow cresting the windowsills.

To write less and do more

to desire. People circle the day

in ice-rinks, holding hands

not their own, while birds teeter from

streetlights and sing on the outside

of love. I want to say I am

carrying a bouquet of black

flowers instead of an umbrella.

I want to say I am holding it

against the sky’s pale attempts

at touch, thinking that it might

save me. How the cold makes you

escape in all the wrong ways.

Tonight, the city announces

its solace like bright empty glasses

clinking beside a birthday cake.

A quarter of a century ago, I was

thinking of nothing, not even you,

& I was the closest to water I have ever been.