Rob Spiegel

We may regret we are no longer
wolves. The cold nights are not
human. The ice, unreliable and soft.

Is it time to trade the kitchen counter for
loam? When it is time, it will
be past time. I wish I could sail

by stars. I wish I could sail at all.
My family is fine. They don’t know.
They think their worries are valid: home-

work, clothing, consumer electronics. The music
of the future has broken. It will seek the
primitive corners it abandoned centuries earlier.

The air tastes funny, like a subversive clown.
I count the fingers and toes of each new child.