Northern lights verglazed the moon:
Snow cones
that were veins of frost lace over
past nights that never happened
yet
cardinal hugely puffed up for winter hopping around in my garden contentedly
searching for kernels to get her through the winter or through the long flight
anyway,
low to the ground and enjoying what is there.
A giant star died in a supernova.
This is my rime, my film, my repeated snapshot,
my repeated image of you.
Leslie Prosterman, author of Snapshots and Dances, most recently has published in Unlikely Stories, Maintenant, and Journal of Italian Translation. She is at work on a new book called Love and Then Tomorrow. She appears as a poet/dancer in vaudeville revues, experimental dance concerts and on YouTube. A former Associate Professor of American Studies and Folklore, Leslie Prosterman now teaches community poetry workshops up and down the East Coast. Befitting a former student of trapeze, she oscillates between NYC, DC, and Chilmark.