Platinum gild
on buttermilk sky
no wonder Icarus
flew too high.
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Category Archives: morning
Connections: March 29.18
I wish I could send you, dear reader, a bit of this morning. We are due for yet another day of rain (have mercy!), but right now the rain is merely a hint, heavy in the air. It is barely day, but there is enough light to make the budding trees crisp against a bland sky. They aren’t moving. The pond is steady glass. The air is early-spring warm and utterly still, as though afraid if it breathed it would cease to be.
I can hear a mourning dove and some kind of chirpy thing, both chanting their Lauds, each in its own way. I can also hear the rainwater draining into the pond, a gurgling antiphonal to the birdsong. There is an occasional car which sounds far away. Mostly I am swathed in quiet. I feel like an intruder, but I stay, also trying not to breathe.
Have you ever wanted to put a moment in your pocket so you could pull it out again when you need it?
Connections: March 21.18
The snow bedecks the deck
the swing and windowsill
and expletives explode
from every daffodil.
Connections: February 18.18
Of the dawn I asked
Do you burn with frost or fire?
Is this the scald
of ice or ire?
Are you flushed with fever
reflected pain
or with northern lights
of frigid disdain?
Connections: January 24.18
January 16.18
Twig by twig alit
hoarfrost incandescence
winter morning’s bloom
crystalled efflorescence.
Connections: January 7.18
Behind the brambly trees,
near distant,
the horizon burned,
color of gladiola
I have summer-seen,
but quick to cool,
lost to cinder grey
though I stretched my hand
to stop it —
ashen sky now
ashen snow —
the awning on the swing flaps
like trapped bird,
winter warming laps
at frozen ground,
then ice.
