In the Cold by Jesse Glass 1. I was thinking how the lake drags under a bit of the city with each wild grab like a desperate man in a crowded bar reaching for the till before he runs. 2. I was thinking of the snow flakes cut by the drop-hammers of the sky & how the ice never melts on the angels in the Polish cemetery where the dead lie rib to rib in the cold. 3. I was thinking of all coverings abruptly ripped away of the brain's heat tumbling up & up—lost in a copper cloud of a warm breath squandered on a mirror & of dull eyes staring at black water. 4. I was thinking of a weeping picture of the mother of god & how, at night, in the dim cathedral the heat clicks on to keep the miracle warm. 5. I was thinking of a room so empty—dust echoes. of a hand wrenched open like a broken flower of the brooding stain the woman wears as she sings to no one on the library steps & of a rat-toothed wind that can set a dollar bill soaring above the ice. © 2002 by Jesse Glass. All rights reserved. Home