By the bitter river, where the winter dogs stray,
Aunt Edna kept her bible right next to the phone,
with underlined proverbs and hen party gossip,
for the party line biddy’s and reminiser’s of wars,
for the backslidden and Presbyterian elect.
While the winter dogs lap what is left
to the cold barren ground;
Dead sparrows, their wings fanned like arrows,
milky-eyed possums filled with the last ants of autumn.
Down off the interstate, by the town road,
I am the collector of aluminum treasure,
my sack of today’s catch.
A straw dog of sinew and bone,
and the leaves dance around my feet,
like winter brides.
My thoughts empty as Lazarus tomb.
I am a winter man,
a stray leaf blown in the hallway,
a winter stray in the bitter snow,
my tracks gone to wind by morning.