A Winter Poem

A forgotten river holds the spilled moon,
the night ice resting on a frozen estuary;

Mouths with gloved hands blow words like ships stuck
and a lip-less river hibernates beneath our night drive;

The bridge guardrail reminds me that “life is worth living”
and I turn from the window to watch you concentrate on the road—

I permit my teeth to move:
Love holds us above the Hudson
at forty-five miles per hour.

This article appears in June 2009.