Chickadees, snowshine, tourmaline skies; Blue jays, jack pine, solitude mine.
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 … More Three Fields along Highway 42
Buttery light spread/ on this white November wall/ winter’s knife is slow.
Winter broke and entered years ago, pressing icy fingers against our skin, wandering under our shirts, searching for our hearts, listening as we slowly wound down – we were watches kept in a drawer of an empty house. But I think you must have jacked open some painted-over lead-poisoned window, somewhere, deep inside, (maybe in … More Breaking and Entering
Tonight we sleep above the ice, (cocooned like mousies in sleeping bags) under an impossible number of January stars, (brilliant like only winter stars can be, Orion hunting alone) over the lake, and the fish in the lake, (swimming slowly in the iced water capped by sixteen inches of ice) in this bitter cold, (as … More Night on Shakey Lakes, -17°F
First winter snow has tripped and falls and falls, I lace my boots and take my sheltered lens; Behind me, windows throw a yellow pall of slanted patches on white-trousered lawns; Snow stills the trees and fills the prints of those who walked ahead along the unlit road; We will not meet, my pace unhurried … More Unleashed (A Sonnet)