Through a winter soot of glass
the night side of the moon
sprawls out like a yellow cat: old 
and satisfied 
across the wool duvet.  
Moonlight watching 
grey blue rain fall down without 
a sigh without a wonder 
for some why or for some what 
if it all ends, through 
limbs of river birch 
through rain-soaked leaves,
as I look on from 
painted plastered gaps of space and 
count the days I count the nights
without his rolling thunder 
soul, his gentle mornings.




08 jan 02
M Madison