The first frost of telephone phrases.
—Andrei Voznesensky
Headlight Flares
Melt into puddles.
Trees bristle,
Electrified
With raindrops and wind.
Night of storms,
First time without you,
Muffled waves
Of passing cars
Out in the cold...
Occasional flares
Of lights
From the highway
Slide
The window square
Across the wall.