On the edge of winter, a walnut tree.

Cracked smile of nut, gutted sky. I’ll find surprise in it.

Our heat is broke again, as genre. Friends gathered here, in our cold home,

wanting no more. We ate our rice and wine. Slept after eating.

The city, a barge this morning. Your face

beveled the bed. Sleep light. I’ll find surprise in it.

They named me something soft. I use it to tell the season.

Take on. Leave again. Welcome, Ayaz.

A hymn for your weather. New n’ not yet tired.

I’ll surprise it.

Eggy week, I’ve stopped paying attention.

How extendible that feral doing work does.

The week fat beyond belief.

How happy though, to belief!

We thought spring would come: xxx it’s cracking.

Zemirot! Bite!

I’m no good at shouting. I’d like to like to say again but

I must walk home.

I open the front door. The living room—

friends gutted it.

I know those shoes’ve fallen in the doorway,

some are mine.

All day the cat waits for us. Grieving her scattered,

prosey color.

We will all be right. It’s hotter,

orbs on this orb marooning again.

Whether we know, we knew not,

but now know.

Look at that child come home from school.

He’s graceful.

He stops me at the door, introduces himself.

Although I was afraid, I am older now, so now know.

The sweetness of the orb must turn. I’ve left

Surprise. I find it here.

From inside, I bring a sugared thing out,

The child skips back home.

It’s still light out

The door cracking open.