i think about
what branches will i tangle this year,
what monstrous leaves will be so brittle,
those sunsets i never had.
yet i'll endure
whether in the cabin
or in the apartment
the sun splayed like a simmering egg-
the receding hairline of the city
dog walkers in down carhart coats
with breathe as cold as an icepick.
an elegy for that which