Blues in the Key of March ~ Jim Daniels



Sleet spots the window like errant stars

like whispers of a confidence

betrayed. No mailman or savior

going to live this weather down.


No use asking God to deliver another

morning. No Special Orders.

No raising your hand when no one’s

going to call on your sorry ass.


All the hard buds stalled aquiver.

Somebody asking, do you remember?

And you don’t. Sky eraser. Blood

tease. A promise slipping through


fingers into a plunge, all those spots

merging into the unnamed river

we all have a name for, having

rode it alone in the dark,


having contributed our tears,

having justified silent dreams.

Having paddled against the current,

abandoned the paddle.