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Tonight I walk out into winter’s fingers
stepping from one stone

On Friday evening Glebov Senior took a turn for the worse: The ache started in his chest, spreading to his shoulder and then into his back. The ambulance was sent for. 

In flight: bird, arrow, grief.
Static: a red chair
waiting for someone in a patch of sun

Waiting in a lofty hotel lobby
honeycombed with entrances and exits,
feeling weak, I find a corner, lean

One of the first times I saw
My cousin’s son he was a kid wearing
A baggy Canadian hockey jersey

A woman
downwind from Nagasaki now dying
is forced to decide

What’s a song without measure,
Or a verse without meter,
Company without pleasure,

The boy has seen the sides of barns his father has painted, colorful pictures and perfectly shaped words twenty feet tall. And he’s seen the Shell gasoline stations around Decatur his father had been in charge of keeping painted and clean...