Poem: A Case for the Rocking Chair

Snow is falling.

In a trance,

I sit,

watching the angelside

of the wideworldsky

give itself to the now

of down.

And in this moment,

from this ticktocked

farmhouse crib,

the staircase of my mind

leads to disbelief

that someone,

somewhere,

is running late.

This article appears in November 2015.