“Do you get my drift?”
I sent it over a week ago.
It came with the cold front
over the lake.
The winds were persevering
all the way past the county line.
I lined it up along north 2nd street.
It still leans over the shoulder.
The temporary edifice
is about to surrender
to 40 degrees.
Come quick.
Let me talk you under the ledge.
Listen as the symmetrical
melts melts melts.

The dripping has begun
and words dangle
drop into the drainage ditch.
Remember you said you were cold
and dry.
Sit under here as if it was a juniper.
Cup your hands as the drift withers.