Winter’s cognitive attic leaves
trees like wishbones. They wince
when the wind winds up along
these lonely stretches of calico
wilderness. Edison is our only
confirmation saint. Westinghouse
watches Lake Erie burn. A bell rings
out for baptisms. Another is rung
for the baptized. A third announces
a moment of silence for all those
who chose such a time to profess
their flameproof faith. If you listen
closely you can hear their ashes
ask amnesty for the wind.
Remembrance is the only act
of significance. We fall asleep
by the radio to dream of the air
raids like our fathers before us.