APRICITY

How does it come to end?

This postcard beauty: snow-clad skeletons

bent under the weight of winter.

A skyline of relentless pine and fir,

with arms bowed down to meet the ground.

The frozen stream encased.

 

Our compacted track runs out,

a last stroke of dried-up pen on blank page.

Beyond where the boot prints fade, one more step

leaves us knee high, struggling

to obtain some purchase. Clumsy,

surrounded by icy stillness.

 

For no birds sing and other creatures hide,

bear their bodies lightly.

Sunshine thaws this day; we listen

to its melting, do not foresee

the griefs not yet begun,

when we no longer hear the frost return.

 

i. 2023