Dusty in the Garret

"A man who has at length found something to do will not need to get a new suit to do it in; for him the old will do, that has lain dusty in the garret for an indeterminate period. Old shoes will serve a hero longer than they have served his valet–..." – Thoreau, "Economy"










In great cold, pavements glaze like a sugar candy,
steam from the mouth suggests a dragon,
if you dream of a door, you tend to slam it.
My life has dragged on... –Brodsky


Old town, home, the river a long sheet of white glass;
over it the bridge as our blue and icy symbol
as it is the form of a clasp between two shores
and as I return the soul in two is caught in a past
of scenes of trees of the great emigration from these streets
littered by slumped taverns and creaky signs like shields

which will always protect the men soiled inside.
I slither back and forth past the arterials
and wonder whether to stop or go at every light.
Was it a cluster of love or of a fading fear
that I come in as winter does all agleam in white.
I gather my mind again, a shirt torn to seams.