FAMILIAR

The pseudo-St. Jerome has not been issued a lion
But is followed around by a shapeless blur
Which may someday coalesce into a lion
Or at least an enormously large cat.
Occasionally a claw scratches the sidewalk;
A tooth sometimes gleams in the lamplight.

ON THE MIDWAY

Come January I would unbutton my coat
And, walking slow against the wind, go see
What might be new with Lake Michigan.
Since I seldom wore hats my ears
Cried out against me, but who listens to ears?
The sidewalks rang in the cold and I thought
“Winter and I understood each other.”
When the night wind speaks these days

The language is one I no longer know.