December 29, 2025

Years drip from the eaves
like last week’s snowfall,
melting slowly together
into a flat glistening glaze
of yesterdays and some-time-or-anothers
that slide over and through each other,
transparent and slick, before
congealing into precarious daggers
that gracefully grip the roof edge, each
preparing to suddenly plunge,
sink its glassy hand into
whatever soft and fleshy crust
waits below, or simply to unmake
itself one drop
at a time, that is,
to fall one way or another.

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love notes
a ritual to start the week