the lowest (so far) lows

today the lowest low so far! 2 degrees at sunrise and the air is like a blade. this kind of blue in  the sky is almost of an hysterical saturation, a fist rubbing of maniac color that's impossible to escape. so of course, we go out, with all of our mouths open to catch it, wind burn chafing our lips, space shattering as dogs leap through it. not even winter yet, not hardly.

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each man and his wet fist

together

curl themselves fiercely around their

grove of standing candles.

these, yes, do all the ordinary things;

flicker and bow and shine through

the slats of their ribs,

cause conflagrations of

rage and sadness

to shock down their arms

and shake between their teeth.

but

tides and salt rot are thinning

the bottoms of the barges,

and the tentpoles of tree limbs,

and are forming dry standing earth

in the middle of the sea.

even in sleep united,

each man's luminous chest,

in swimming postures of restlessness

will sometimes share

the other's dreams.

of drowning in the glove darkness

of silt and decay just below trailing fingertips,

or of clear water breaking

through collapsing skin

and blinding them

in reflection.

each man, a stranded vessel

on the white throat

of flat water

among the traveling trees,

will sway sometimes from his watch.

a hiss of singed flesh

or the bluely darkening bloom

of a clandestine bruise and

he will look down to see,

striped in ash,

that in sleep he's put out his own flames

with panicked breath.