I wonder what the storm will bring?
cold and still
her whipping winds
beating us,
maybe sun through cloud lenses
a strange near-sightedness-
I’m focusing, or trying,

Waiting for year end
and next try.

Too late to chase
dried dingy leaves
into their corners,
sweeping makes it worse
and who knows?
maybe the new year
will chase out the old
with huge sweeps of her broom,

Maybe I can feed the sand and sun
on my back,
climb on and ride
between her beams,
between the sheets.

Treat her like
a new purchase,
break her in good.