1. JANUARY COUNTRY
Crows rule the roost, black as the ice
glazing a no-name pond
at the point the spring continues
feeding into it. Snow
whites out even the trees, sticking
to their trunks like the paint some old wives’ tale
says scares off gypsy moths. My thoughts
take a turn for the worse, & I remember
the day that did this, all those people going
As I live & die, the sky has a mind
to bury us! Snow thick as stars on the flag
settled like ashes on the smoking houses …
Only now something clicks
in my head like the cold turnstile
of another season locking
behind me. Where to from here? The way
the freezing air drives the carp in the pond
deeper into their element, the stillness
turns me to words. Crows punctuate the white
like periods that sentence me
to what I’ve said.
2. GRAY MATTER
Overnight, March
invades January,
& the ice starts to break
in its wake. Mist lifts off the gray river
like dreams evaporating in the light,
like the spirit of the water rising
as a ghost to hover
above it-proof
the invisible lives.
All day, in one corner
of my mind, the vision builds up
like the pearl of the sky.
3. FEBRUARY ANNIVERSARY
Bare forked maples blacken in winter rain
as if possessed by their shadows,
like mourners all gathered around a grave
in silence. Fog clouds my view
of a white lake
through the trees: it’s a scene
straight out of a misty Japanese scroll
painting of a moment of change
frozen in time to remind me
of loss. Yet the harder
I have to look, the more clearly
I see. Peering
into the distance of the other shore,
I drift off across the water
to condense myself, like ink on a page.
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