Eric
C. Harrison
Permanent
Ink
another
page in the Grimoire turns
marked with permanent ink
final and familiar John Hancock written
upon the doorway labeled "was"
a
scene framed in my bathroom window
February thin and Sunday tired
lost crows gather around the rim of
a red brick pillar jutting skyward
gray wisps offset cerulean backdrop
as smoke finds winter
air on the rise
like the heat from a barrel-fire
heating the homeless
it eventually dissipates and
disappears
I
consider another stone foundation
fed by heat from the hearth itself that
remains as paper forever flipped
to warm a flock of blackbird poets
huddled around a chapbook chimney