For those days when the lights switch on and off

For those days when the lights switch on and off

by themselves and I hear voice messages

from longstanding enemies.

For the good old days when I rely

on verses I already wrote

to keep from slashing my wrists.

For the fear of failing

that haunts me every December.

Will this be the year my planet refuses

to forgive me with a blush of green

long enough to soothe my heartaches?

For the assumptions of next winter’s chill

and the quiet days in between.

Your face among the poinsettias

after every prayer and rainfall.

The only image I long for.