If there were

Weather today - the
dog nipped the front door
demanding a walk
on hardened snow. Just
twenty degrees. Down
four houses to the park around the
frozen baseball field smelling
everything. Old goose tracks distorted
by days of sunlight on ice.
Yellow piss on the cold
trees. The clouds of
breath cool and descend.
Today is the only day
there is.

We come back into the house.
Come back into the house.
Television reminds me that
Arizona exists
somewhere.
Somewhere the air is
warm and
crowds with
terrible people
sharing their names.
Remember:
here your name
floats away
over parking lots.
Here you speak and
your voice settles
as it cools.

Your name will
grow into springtime
nettles
along the steep
bank.