Lyrics
Cruel snow, cracked lips, sun lost by 4. Cold winces through
the cardboard window where the cobblestone was smashed into
glass, and the bare bulb of moon swings over Portage Avenue,
lights the icy ruts they sprinkled with sand, down the dim
hall of chain stores to Grace, where the parking lot is full
again and I don’t bother locking up. The face, before the
doors slide apart, is hers, the day they took away the candy
and left gift-shop tulips to frame her alarmed, “What will I
do now?” What will I do now?
