Rogers Park, Chicago by Tim Dardis

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

unfallen leaves.




More rare than silence in this city, ours is

more than space between.


Standing at the end of this

concrete pier,

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 Head Shot

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.