Saturday, November 20, 2010

winter dance

God, I love the crispness of these winter days
when the sun cracks blonde chinks in the clouds,
sharply defining the edges of tree limbs,
howling to the trembling buds:
Sleep well, I'll be here awhile.
I love when the dancing branches
tremor against the sky
so pale with its fighting to be blue, when
I see each object truly -
each twig itself, performing each step
for this moment of my watching, this movement,
in the wind's harsh yelp and cry,
where I am finally allowed to be:
I suddenly exist, pulling my coat around myself,
the wind a knife
cutting the ears from my head;
I watch the dance and am one with the wind,
listening to what is the invisible.

No comments:

Post a Comment