All the tin roofs red, redder still in colorless January, pitiless and hard-edged. A mocking pass of clouds hoards the light. A sparrow
In first grade we learned about Halley’s Comet When it comes back I will be eighty-three I don’t know why this feels significant The
It gets late so early now dinner at five not seven no wine allowed (bottles stashed behind winter boots) no appetite, food picked at,