A weekend may be enough
for us to break off battered wings
sear them in a plutonic fire
freeze and reattach with utility staples.
Sew them extra maintenance, support.
There is no rush, no rusting wings on air,
like no rush for vodka over ice.
Just keep the bottle in the freezer.
Freedom arrives in a short time,
it will wait for us in a snowstorm.
I wait for
springtime breezes
to blow snowballs below the fire.
At least we’ll see over them, then.
Tip the plowman. Drop your luggage
in the muddy puddles I keep
as pets by my front door.
Pour me frozen and take us to the sky.
Don’t pluck daisies until their stems are dry.
-Grant Durando
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