It's cold even for January.
There's no one else on the path.
The backs of houses hidden

the rest of the year are visible
through the leafless trees.
I feel like I'm looking

at something I shouldn't.
Off in the distance
a dog begins barking.

Snow patchily covers
the ruins of a garden
the town planted in memory

of the dead Cernigilia children,
a brother and sister.
The most mysterious thing,

I read somewhere,
is a fact clearly stated.
The sun will shine

for another six billion years.

---

Howie Good lives in New York (but not New York City).