A long overdue elegy

Tonight will be the coldest night on record, they announce aplenty
broadcasts, newscasts, podcasts,
Strangers in awe of a few flurries
daily routine suddenly suspended, all angst forgiven,
Landscape transfigured, if only in our minds.

Tonight there is no darkness, no regret
Just metal and glass and voluntary solitude
An exercise in nonsense, woven by desire
in airy anticipation of days to come.

May tomorrow be a gracious book, pages aplenty
pages ripped, shriveled, stained and blank
A book of forecasts and forgiveness, transparency and euphoria
A book of secrets, A work-in-progress

Free from duty, proudly bolted in warm openness.

For D.


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