that patina of medlars apples of late autumn brown as wineskins

my stooped neighbour out for a walk even more stooped

whispers beyond the narrow wall beyond the wintering vines

cool evening the halfmoon brighter and brighter

through the lace curtain a delicate tattoo his sleeping face

the odd flake on a discarded pumpkin

in our yuppie's recycling bin all the right bottles

toddy for the body

and another dab of lotion for these dry itchy ears

why does the window sing to me that way *

nothing like a rag to get the dust hopping on those smooth surfaces

dances come and go and come again

newly sharpened skates streak down the canal

snap the whip tailredspinning

snow searching abandoned berries

bitter cold oh no got to go

my winter willow gallgreen this toosoon spring

nothing in the test results she weighs each word

still typing onehand lefthand ... better than nohand

where do socks go when you do the laundry

from my night studio words melt into morning

faintly the gymnoédie à mademoiselle jeanne

village girls gathering a time of summer and silk

that madness ... when dreams come true

swollen lake the whistle through rattling halyards

in my pocket a golden loon

ottawa panhandler reminds me of another link

soon now the ashcan fires

spears of green at long last a stem

second row knit one purl two

finally noticing the dragonflies as they part

little league coach's kettle of corn

late at the fair slow shuffle nearing the midnight gate

on the road the snake's shed skin

and always the silent journey inward

outward toward the candle

*erica jong

british columbia québec 93