Halloween weather lingered over the city
like an incantation,
heavy gray brushstrokes cresting against
the dead fields swept beneath the overpasses,
with leaves and scraps of paper pressed against
rusted fences at the airport's wind-blown boundaries.
Over the sullen scrim of ice that was the river,
radio lights burned feverishly
through spires of black pine woods.
They left afterimages burned into our vision
as we staggered past the edge of the yard towards the house.
Our bulkhead is wired shut, our boots wet from slush,
and there's a sense of anticipation that's balanced like some
dark photographic negative over the
paint-less boards of the porch,
where we sat head in hands,
shivering and remembering.
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