by John Sibley Williams
Tonight a piano
counters the chill
and silence
of a house still standing.
Limbs
and lifeless power lines
snaking paths
through the frost.
Candles upon which
we love tenderest
lining like a runway
the edges of things.
And the somber keys,
black upon white,
warning us
of an icy landing.
John Sibley Williams is a good little boy who thoroughly enjoys his vegetables and enjoys pats on the head.
