One Piece at a Time
Asleep by the sound of a time
before winter-a time when the
mountains were still graced with
the warm scent of unsmelted iron.
Rising like Asimov’s balloon,
you make me feel like a sacrament
of dewdrops dropping on a syrupy
absinthe green arborvitae below.
Holding one of your wind scourged
teardrops, you make me feel the grit,
one piece at a time