What May Come

Where did it come from, this premonition that someday I will be parted from my head?

Lenten moon

the trees must store these shadows
somewhere deep

the downtrodden snow
ready to shine

shadows open
their wings

the giant
my father was

a mosquito wheal rises
on my bald head

moon on ice
that emphatic
WHO-all

even the full moon isn’t
where I left it

I remember every place I’ve seen that ember