And cold. Doors chime at State
and Lake. The hours of thought. All
lines proceed. Entrances. Passages. Flames
lick at sidewalk names. Silver,
the moon is rounding. Words
and air are ice. A woman slim
in furs arrives. A man like an omega.
Image of the fog. Painted
panthers, panting. Shadows long
to lie in. A clock above an archway.
The Loop. The El. Later.
And cold.
Originally from North Carolina, Jonathan Wike now lives in Nashville where he practices law and teaches English. His poems have appeared in the Hampden-Sydney Poetry Review and Blue Unicorn.