the pen so cold
snow is edging the city
and wind test the monuments
their verdigris work of the soul
there will always be dancing
at the bar americain
though the tongue freezes
without speech
and all along the boulevard
people press their lives
into the sounds in their heads
there's something tender in stone
the cold frees it
the living stand with flowers
and feel the coming sleet
water is more than rain
there's no sleep beyond the night
and now is always interruption
sweeping away the leaves
