1 New Poem

February (Victorious)

I feel best when the music
gets up loud enough to
drown chatter of restless
narcissists, the sense that I
am alone, complicit in
waving shards, stacks
flame on the night sky,
television crystals.

Somewhere in the neon canola glow,
I lose myself to rhythms falling
at feet, to marshal stomp of
marching boots down laneways,
smack of hard rain against
windshield glass.

I knew shapes shadows would take
against stone carving,
holy places brushed clean of snow,

Clean of accusations against
life and heart, some kind
of communal elegy,
carried through crowd,

When the shouts became too much
for me to pass on,
and I let others speak
in dark noon of who was
gone that they remembered
just as annoyance,
as apparition;

The same as I,
after the page turned.