winter naked trees, the
wind a sheet of freezing
glass that mocks cold
laughter up the skirt
of
spring

& sad mary
wants to get back
together.

no words,
no contact
for a year

& she
wants to get
back

together.

she'll have to
be told it's not the best idea:

we were
sufficient idiots first time
around and the past's
a paddy's bottle

filled with peacock
veins and liquid gold,
crying for a future

that's
3 sticks
of fresh celery in a jar, on
the kitchen table/july sun
beam dusted down
around them/

plenty
of salt