Robert Walicki

R o b e r t   W a l i c k i

Acrostic: Winter Moths

What it means to see them now

Is knowing they are still here, fluttering

Like pieces of sky, the white out they called for

Lusterless air, new frost sparkling

Ice covering the half dead pines

Something makes me look in your car

Every morning for your sweater, for the wind to pass this way,

Erase the memory of you

You cannot understand what a closed drawer means

Or the arms of soft things, threadbare, folded

Under the oak, your car sits windows half rolled down

And the moths from somewhere, have gotten in

Gradually falling, some half flying

Arcs of light I cannot save

Inside of midnight, everything covered in white

New snow falls; there is nothing I want.

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