I awaken to pee, pass the window
in its wide-eyed state: too bright.
Could be a spotlight that beams
new films, except this skytracker
doesn’t rove. The light is steady, ultraviolet.
The dead tree, tumbling shrubs,
picket fence – all caught in the tremble
of their last pose. Tears freeze in this light.
Heaps of snow on the chaise longues
are body shaped. Aha! There lie the outsiders
who live outside. Others, unwanteds, the ones
they now see, are said to be among us.
If only we knew who the “we” is.
If only shadows didn’t seem doomed.
The drip-drip of the faucet, shoe-sized.
They can’t even let the full moon off the hook.