The snow is falling like slow rice
from a wedding of sky and ground,
midwinter where variations of white
ride the Montana landscape
with inescapable rhythms.
The hard leaf hangs like a death sentence
when fall promised the salvation of darkness
that would find the oak and maple wanting.
The last of the summer wishes
are encased in ice like jewels
midwinter where variations of white
ride the Montana landscape
with inescapable rhythms.
The hard leaf hangs like a death sentence
when fall promised the salvation of darkness
that would find the oak and maple wanting.
The last of the summer wishes
are encased in ice like jewels
for my feet to find one morning early
as I step from the warmth of the van
as I step from the warmth of the van
into the truth of ice.
Laurel, Montana. 11 February, 1997
Laurel, Montana. 11 February, 1997
No comments:
Post a Comment