January 1, 2008

First squirrel of the year walks westward on its wire
while the trees shudder
then steady. In the middle of my sleep

sirens woke me & then they, too, were gone.

Now morning unpacks its suitcase of sunlight
& the brilliant blue of promise mixes with regret.

This is how the wind moves us all & pushes
the moral of our story further into obscurity.

Having gotten its invitation, a storm front will visit
later, heading east as if to meet the day.