i.
The broad face
of the February field
is tilted to the falling snow –
broken cornstalk stubble
waiting for the razored plow.
ii.
The snow, the field,
the fog rolling in waves
off of the lake,
a blank page.
The split rail fence,
the bare trees,
the broken barns,
black parentheses.
iii.
Beyond the fence,
nothing
but a white screen.
Along the road,
silhouettes of trees
suddenly appear and fade,
appear and fade
in the frames
of the car windows,
somber fireworks
in black and white
in a memory
belonging
to someone else.
Halfway North 