[February 4, 2009]

Wind gives the house voice
As bushes scrape siding
Fluffed birds skitter
Around the feeders,
The hawk’s killing ground.
Death amongst sun rays,
The thermometer
Hovering at two.

Last night lights came
On an EMT truck
Illuminating
Next door at midnight
While snow fell
And departed.
Shortly,
Cancer over there,
As deadly as the
Lurking Cooper’s Hawk.

Death’s an ambush
Twenty four-seven
Not in a jungle
Or a wilderness
But here in a suburb
In the rust belt.