The Queen of Spades looks up at
me from a chilly city sidewalk—
I put her in my pocket—one stray
card with two faces—does she
vengeance and evil, or benevolent,
intelligent power? At the end of
ragged year, before the longest
night, it seems important to know.
Eight lanes of heavy metal boxes shuttle
passengers north and south, like always,
and towers rise higher every year, as
the tideline does. Waning light reflects
to gray the lapping waves. I lay
the card back on the ground,
the west wind for a reading.