billie, on a december afternoon

bended notes freely given

harbor me so long as i hear her voice

and i am willing to submit.

but outside the wind is cold and caustic,

eroding cynicism and bravado

until only rich loam remains,

fertile with sadness and also with something else,

something deeper, nameless, and dense:

equal parts memory, god, matter, and time;

chimerically tangible, comforting,

heartbreaking and true.