DECEMBER UNCOILS

December uncoils. All the living things -
clutch heat to no avail; save the unsundering of Spring.
Tucked into the sparrow’s throat
with a spoon, all the brevity of The Hereafter.
Such colosseums to stump the frump of Time
De-Murked by the clarity of Love
Fumbling for Joy.

II

In the meantime, Time means whatever you glass.
any aspect of your longing… dreamt of, like a pearl
in a hazmat suit; coming to terms
with terminal things

That Last Forever.