gleaming black head
dark overcoat too big for him
its hem far below his knees
elbows stuck awkwardly out in the frosty air
hands jammed into his pockets
to warm his fingers, to keep his hands ready

he’s facing away from the house
trying to see beyond the rooftops
far beyond
but his feet are planted staunchly
in the ice encrusted grass
he is eight years old
inside his overcoat he swears
he will never go back in that house

how long can a little boy
in an overcoat (he has no hat, no gloves,
thin shoes, and it smells like snow)
stay out there alone
trying to breathe life into the frozen trees
trying to convince winter he can melt her
with precocious kisses?

his toes freeze his eyes burn
his agile and eloquent tongue turns blue
his protestations, tremolo assurances
promises clearly beyond his ken to keep
shatter like shaken icicles
his black shoulders, though he doesn’t realize
shake too

completely alone he stands
in the path of your every storm

dear God
what are you waiting for?
call Leonard in
call Leonard in