invisible ice

the wind visits from the artic north
and i cannot believe how much invisible ice
it holds in its mouth
meanwhile this hero's roof rattles
under the strain of having a piss pot
a pager and telephone to protect
under one wide brimmed hat
my beard scatters its grey fingers
that are left awry in a gesture of the wind's
anarchy
i incubate my ashes
it is december and everything feigns death
in a riot of hidden whispers
listen to what i have to say it seems to say
in an undertone of chorused urgency
but the straw hat over my wife's left breast
lifts its lid and i see
her completely naked for first time
since she was born
even the bed sounds like cobblestones baking
in an oven of yeasty haste that fills
the sky with an odor of whipped saliva
blue in the distance
where the sun cannot warm the stones of its moon
neptune is predictibly unpredictable
i get a snow shovel and spit at myself
missing by a barn's square yardage
while breakfast is being devoured by the connoisseurs
of bacon drippings and french fried yams
that levitate over their plates
it is the wind again
it is invisible with silver muscles