“Do you get my drift?”
I sent it over a week ago.
It came with the cold front
over the lake.
The winds were persevering
all the way past the county line.
I lined it up along north 2nd street.
It still leans over the shoulder.
The temporary edifice
is about to surrender
to 40 degrees.
Let me talk you under the ledge.
Listen as the symmetrical
melts melts melts.
The dripping has begun
and words dangle
drop into the drainage ditch.
Remember you said you were cold
Sit under here as if it was a juniper.
Cup your hands as the drift withers.
Good poem, Jerry. And I like the new site.
Thanks for stopping by…gonna turn the night light on and read about a Dancing Priest.
nice…i didn’t cup my hands…i opened my mouth, caught the drops and drank…smiles…that’s lovely jerry
Even your responses are poetic…