From time to time
the river in her eyes
will freeze over
into pools of blue steel,
and not even tip toes
can avoid those slithering, protracted cracks
There is smoke there, too
billowing from a stoked,
self-inflicted asphyxia
Flames may dance
as ideas may dance,
but her logs do not burn, even with accelerant
This enigma sits behind
straight, white teeth
that smile or snarl
depending on her
irreconcilable seasons
She is a radiant range of Midwestern indecision
So, from time to time,
I wrap myself around her
to keep a regulated temper
Tightly, I wind the springs
in her falling heart
This way, we always bounce back from storms
