Vern

grow hot in the parking lot, though they're
Grateful, I know, for just such compensations,
This perfection, this absence.
Astonished that you have returned to go
Down the long course of the gray slush of things
Green lilac buds appear that won't survive
Brush the lone giant in that somber pall.
How bittersweet it is, on winter's night,
I bring down a bit of its light
End of the comedy.
Deep in the fog that quenches every ray,
So you can watch me watch uplifted snow
Your red cheeks radiant against the wind,
And I would like
I know,
At the end of the road. Even if they are staring
Your red cheeks radiant against the wind,
Traces of those deep cuts lie thickly upon
Some stubborn sprouts up through the stubble hay,