We’d leapt, then—joined a risk. We thought this winter
could act a clean edge to nick
our sass and lax. (Sequestered, we sharpen our angles
on one another.) Haul of
boxes, maps, spit-shine & crease—but scratching already
at the door of it a small blizzard
that we ignored, growing. We have ourselves for warmth
and some lamps for reading. Fluid drawn,
transferred, dispersed. [...]

I have pictures of me at the water
pictures of me in a pose that I admire.
At the corners of my mirror
stand pictures of me by the water.

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