Walk the rails under a high blue sky. Find the sag in the leaning fence, and step--carefully--over rusted wire. Follow a peninsula of blond grasses through a lake of loam, and come, at last, to the timber's edge where gray branches trace the sky and rose hips curl near purple canes.
Wednesday, January 14, 2015
Winter Cleaning
Now to heed the winter gifts:
the seed within the hooked bur shell,
the milkweed's thread of matted silk;
the barbed and needled keeping, or
the paper-smooth release.
The shearing of an ice-clear wind
demands our answer. What to hold? What to loose?
Thank you :) It's particularly encouraging to hear I'm progressing. Sometimes it feels the opposite. I do know I need to be reading more excellent writing. My mother gave me Jane Kenyon's collected poems for Christmas. Yay!
It appears your attentiveness to these winter leftovers has left you exposed to this "demand" I find this courageous.
ReplyDeleteThank you! I do like that word--"courageous"!
ReplyDeleteYou just get better and better with the imagery, Elena. I love this one.
ReplyDeleteThank you :) It's particularly encouraging to hear I'm progressing. Sometimes it feels the opposite. I do know I need to be reading more excellent writing. My mother gave me Jane Kenyon's collected poems for Christmas. Yay!
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