winter is over, the fires are dying
and they won't rekindle them, oh, for a time
and i wait in my rubble for the world to begin
for a third time, i wait for a sign

winter's a god i have no beef with
no chip on my shoulder, no raised, shaken fist
just a tiny argument softer than snow
back and forth, "are you happy?" "no."

three times we deserted these wasted streets
three times the cold drove our bones beneath
and the voice that called twice from the jaw of the beast
a third time returning to me
a third time returning

to me who has tarnished your Name aloud
smashed in your Windows and battered your Shroud
and secretly hoped to come closer than Close
in a city raised up to the ground,
oh my city raised (razed) to the Ground


from sketches around a city, released September 4, 2011




peter j hochstedler South Bend, Indiana

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