The First

by Dalan Grundvig

This morning birthed a hollow kind of quiet,
It stooped below thermometers to kiss
The ground in blue. The shreds of last night’s riot
Were blown to gutters in the paved abyss
Around them. Eyelids bobbed like windswept trees.
How could this be when yesterday was June?
Earth’s puffed away the sun with winter freeze
And chokes on weeds now. I still have to prune
My bushes, ugly, still, with ice like crystal
Meth. Where were all the upturned eyes that bar
Had hidden? Years turn like a roulette pistol.
So why do I resolve to take guitar
When even last night’s newest drunkard brooded?
“I hope I’ve ended once the year’s concluded.”