escalator
out of the subway . . .
snowfall

dark comes early now —
we speak of the children
we didn’t have

winter morning . . .
the stray cat returns
with a wound

lullaby
she reaches
to feel each word

the stump chewed
to a fine point —
winter lodgings

the last commuter
scraping windshield ice . . .
Orion’s belt

tenement clotheslines
sinking lower . . .
winter clouds

prayers and hymns
echoing from long ago
sunlight on a pew

long night
the smell of eucalyptus
on a baby’s chest

icy morning
the twists and turns
of a child-proof cap