Snow angels on the interstate

Snow angels on the interstate

This guy with a congenital condition
spends a lot of time sleeping
shoots out into the night
we collide fragmentarily
at 4:00 a.m.

He's dreaming of giving
an inaugural address:
"We as a nation
beset by so many problems
must face the future..."

I was creeping down the architecture
of Notre Dame
now he is
the sway-back gargoyle
seeking renewal
short of oblivion.

Two mice far below
bidden by dark music
tempted by the braziered fumes
stand hip to hip
toes to the threshold
past which no one returns.

He sidles up behind them
and works the mossy tongue
over which innumerable bright plumes
have fallen on the faltering -
warm baths for all.

Meanwhile at the podium
I can't work the presidential tongue.
Luckily it begins to snow.
I find myself swaying toward the interstate
to finish the ceremony.