“… the next frost.”

By J. K. McDowell

November 2013


The wave approaches, now filling half the sky.

There was never a time you could turn and escape.

Tears from a thousand years of joy bring sweet destruction.


Bodies pressed close, overflowing grasps of flesh.

Only when you close your eyes and at just the right

Moment, you can see the light around the body.


Her fifty-inch flat screen met her sledgehammer.

A daily nature augury brings her news of the universe.

Oh, and on game day just bring her to my place.


The silence in the snowy fields cannot hold

A candle to the desert night.  Dune spirits are

Fast and quiet, they know the whispers of love and death.


Jim, I saw you talking into the ear of the

Donkey that morning Jesus rode by.  I can’t

Recall, was this in Jerusalem or in Fes?


A fire burns, warming the room.  The man in the black

Coat turns, sits and gives the Blessing.  Outside the

Bitter forgotten cold makes plans for the next frost.