Robert Lost

"Its uncomplicated"
we say,

we wake to humid rain
on Christmas morning.

our snow valley
drips to a lowly ooze,

a warm irony,
tired in its significance.

legs stretched just
before wet toes.

we have traveled
south overnight due to, sweat,

incautious movement and
consumption of booze.

maybe we will
realign with Jesus Christ

tomorrow night but
the rain has gained

summer’s power strain.


the leaves so plastered
to the ground

not wholly warm or
dry or wet or cold

but latched to the
dizzy sun, nonetheless.

and suddenly under
vehicular pressure,

we drive,
struggling to unstick


“Here we are”
we say,

hot chocolate burns
tongues mid-summer,

laces strangle ankles,
in our sharp, weathering steps.

summer is the phantom
of our trip and the,

refrigeration system.
we slip in saying

goodbye Christmas mornings.