Rogers Park, Chicago
Last night first snow fell thickly on the city:
street lamp galaxies melted on the pavement,
flickering millions vanished in the lake.
This morning I notice how snow covers cars
and takes the shapes of trees, urging the last
More rare than silence in this city, ours is
more than space between.
Standing at the end of this
between gray sky
and grayer water,
I count days like skipping stones.
This afternoon the beach forgives
my wandering: waves
too brown to swim churn ashore.
Gulls string the wind like beads.
In dune reeds pipers
picnic and panic
as the balance of the sky
sticks dusk to sand.
Tim Dardis grew up in Northbrook, Illinois, and is a long time resident of Boulder, Colorado. He earned a Bachelor of Special Studies from Cornell College, in Mt. Vernon, Iowa, and a Master of Arts in Literature from the University of Colorado at Boulder. His poems have been published in Exquisite Corpse, Toad Suck Review, Fat City Review, Midnight Screaming, Whetstone, Grasslands Review, and Sierra Nevada College Review, among others. A poem is forthcoming from Tic Toc, a time themed anthology from Kind Of A Hurricane Press. He works as a Content Services Specialist for Vertafore, and is an Expert mountain bike racer.