delivering the post

in the peaceful
warmth of cold
on the corner
of winthrop
and audrey lane
you'd fold
and bend
the post and
slip the news
into plastic
sheaths to
throw onto your
list of porches
that circled
round on your
given route.
and those
mornings of
solitude, with
the dog
so patient
beside you,
the sky full
of half light
and stars
waiting for
the wagon to
roll, your
shoes to move
through the dark
streets
and work, as
much then as
you still do
to this day.