Dear Wrought Iron Fence,

In troubled times I imagine turning you into

a weapon. Tonight in full

moonlight I decide what you might say

if you could speak,

a voice that sounds like Mary Tyler Moore when

she holds a spear.

In December ice is your secret

friend, I can tell

by the ferocious way each glass

knife finds

a way to embrace you.

 

(One of the 69 Letters poems)