october november

you're sleeping in my car, lulled
by dashboard heaters, murmering
half-senseless passenger-
seat musings,
you've told me
not to listen, i disobey.
the wind, as a moment
of clarity, removed the obsolete sun,
lifted and carried away
everything
clogging sight, leaving us
adrift in drifts of snow.
and somewhere in all of this,
the woman residing on radio waves
chimes in, relieving chorals;
informing us
that was
Dolorosi martir, fieri tormenti;
Marenzio.
she's startled you and your hand
grasps my shoulder.
the clouds have crashed
upon the earth;
snow plays opposites
and we have found ourselves
in a cold and distant Dresden.