They Know Me Everywhere



1.



the unerring brittle snow falling

away and down, the mass of it, fractious

cilia from a wavering, autistic God



It wasn't always this way



bipolar weather patterns, too much

warmth of winter makes for sickness. a suitcase waits

in a motel drawer. Bud Tate stands among the ruined oaks and pines in his Goodwill

Nikes and grey corduroys too small. Him: lingering by the frozen scrim of stream,

watching the clear water percolate

beneath brittle ice blue and viscous



the water flowing around and by the small hillock island with its frozen ruined trees and passing out into the river at large



medium sized river

named for some Indians



all the lives spent in this valley

all the hundreds and hundreds of years gone by

with another hundred or perhaps 2 to come



Bud picks a Basic one of 3 remaining from the soft pack in his pocket and lights it and there is ice on his beard and his heart is empty