Todd Melicker

anticipate



the minutes of snow
will each cover the roof

a gathering that makes the moon
makes the small feathers of my fingers

i could fly on my hands
the thumbs locked together

my face on the clock
the house a grave

a pair of wings for each window
a tongue for a door

the neighbors hear every shutter
the bare branches reaching
a cold star

the crow unwraps its wings
we are caught up