D on’t ever forget what winter used to be that peregrine dog a shy prancer who would lie down in the street showing his white fluffy belly I love crunchy silences, the fleeting sculptures of exhaled breath, the elegant oaks in their ghost crowns, refracting the rough blinter of stars I remember pulling joy, a warped sled on a frozen rope, across the forest landscape, we go out where chandeliers dance Your naked hand shaking fingers wet and red heaving a cold comet your laughter a wind chime Don’t ask me again how long freeze your belief into a simple formula we see the truth written we live with the hope that the great soft machines will come soon— drifting silent, languid, lying down in the updrafts letting sunbeams scratch their bellies carbon-breathing purifying revising the sky. Haunt me always your white dress hung on naked sumac for now I will carry an acorn, a star, a mitten, a rope.
Copyright © 2020 Christopher Mark Rose.
Christopher Mark Rose is a husband and father, an electrical engineer for NASA spacecraft, and in his spare time an author of speculative fictions. His writings have appeared in Interzone and Dreamforge, and are forthcoming in Asimov's and UNCANNY. He attended the most recent Viable Paradise writers' workshop, and is founder for the Charm City Spec reading series. He hopes his stories are affecting, humane, and concerned with large questions.