A PLAN AND A REPAIR

by Michael H. Brownstein

Tomorrow we swim upstream with the fresh water dolphins,
every tributary green with brown leaf, reed, tree frog silk.
Near the glades of baritones and subtleties,
the staircase of demons, the vines of simplicity.
There is no shades youth here, no faded youth, the hush
of Puritan and work ethic.

But today ice and blue light, a shape to wind, a thick glove of cold,
slush and gloom--a cleansing of litter and blood,
the silence too loud to hear. An Alzheimer's moment
and the pink thread of mist frays into light,
the sky sun ached blue-white, full of calories
and miscalculations.