Braided strands of our

memories so easily 

tangle, fray, then break 

The rain's soft patter 

portends the coming tempest; 

teapots or torrent  

 Winter-ruined and

paint-peeled the old house waits for

spring's tender embrace 

I miss the feeling 

of my face pressed against a 

darkened car window 

Yesterday's arcane 

knowledge has become today's 

meme stripped of meaning  

Garbage-strewn snow piles 

dot the fields in which purple 

crocuses have sprung 

Push me, pull you, in

an endless cycle of harsh

primate posturing