ice formation
Byron Hoot

Fourteen degrees feels like one.
Who has not known the reality
and the felt reality of 
time and place, the utter discrepancy?

I recall days when the difference 
was greater than 13 degrees,
recollecting circumstances

unmeasurable though unnoticed
by anyone, dressed for the occasion
only later nakedness would reveal

the chill of bodies making love
to forget who and where, staying
warm by some memory not expressed

some desire
of desire