December First

It snowed last night, first fall of the year. Taking out the trash, there I am, dozing in a garden swing set deep within July. Mother of pearl eyes above the clouds…it could be another year. July in a London park lying next to your soft brown hair wisps of humid gentleness in a public place. Snow falls onto my eyelids. The trash is from Madrid there are straw birds and the ruins of several cathedrals in it. It should be heavier but the Iberian condors add a weightlessness to all things too heavy to bear across a backyard asphalt. The chill bones on the swing set rattle, icicles drip from blue eye sockets. You are singing in the kitchen again, coral lips savoring what you have yet to cook. A skein of geese are crossing over a heaped pile of clouds and frozen spires. Reclining shorts and a T rustle in a summer breeze, then freeze. Just taking out something to send it away takes many years of scratch and scrabble, when you get there it could be the time or the season discarding your lost days or you may have miscalculated the accumulation that gathers around the beginning of December when the snow comes early.