Jaime's for April 3rd!

{Where is Cranbury, New Jersey?}

I rest on a crutch,
the palsied hand of a snowman.
It might takes days in this weather.
The storm mellifluous and self-governing.
Powdered crutch:
silly hand for birds.
The texture of longing
is the texture of a cloud,
stria-vertebraed water
croons on the wicked wind.
Beaks are frozen smiles.
When I kiss you,
cracks a pond.

If I do not return to you
by Spring, it is for thinking
anything that spreads its arms
can fly.