My son’s sculptures sit
In calm repose, as mine do
In my mother’s house.

The robins returned
Seeking worms in frozen ground
At the cusp of spring.

Wind that is no wind
Thrashing me from side to side
But moving nothing.

Darkness is my friend
And I dissolve into it,
A midnight swimmer.

Two squirrels in a maul
Gamboling from trunk to branch,
Where they score the try.

No longer hearing
The wind howling through his mind,
He saw snow falling.

Long crane extended
Against the old citadel
Like a horse’s cock.

It must be my fate:
A belch like a gurgling sink
And still he wants more.

Through patter of rain
A dog barks obsessively
Content with nothing.

San Francisco bum
Sitting with dog and blanket,
Reading Vonnegut.