POEMS

Snow-crowned old town. 
Tabique de ostión. Oyster or bone? 
Gypsum or salt? 無 ;—
the sweepings of heaven. Snow 
falls because it has nowhere else to go. 

Here, coffeehouse clatter; oxbow 
lake in a china saucer; puddle prints 
beneath the bronze, brazen doorbell
—a fossiliferous postcard life. 

Through a snow-reefed window 
the moon looks over its shoulder...