The New “Shaky” Poem

I wake to the run-off of snow and with window-stares and sighs try to salvage what is left of this winter. That lash in my eye from last night is still there. But instead of blinking more of myself gone I will turn to the spoon where a host winks again and again to the other contestants. More starlings come to pieces in the sky and then just like that they’re back prophesying. Is this why my discovering of a sock I don’t recognize has returned this slushed hush to my heart, activating this reluctance to dress? Consequence is a kind of warped karma. So I dangle more words from the back of my throat then act startled by the worlds I’ve encouraged. You have been in the bathroom for hours. With what sounds like your wedding ring caressing the tile like a train’s pained confession. As more homes you’ve dreamt up on your own dim their lights to the teakettle’s well-wishing. And strangers make gains on our love-lives again. But don’t let the “The Shaky Poem” convince you of anything or suggest the first fish-nerves of our coming to be. Now, there is so much less to go on. If only on this you were sold.