In a snowy wind blowing there
Hunches a stiff black fence
Arranging and rearranging its wire in a cold.
It does not expect a warmth
From an accidental Spring.
In a knothole in an eye
It seeks from a mute sky
Any minor light celestial
Occasionally, falling falling
Without ceremony, or portent.
Although, out of a cabin, table and chair
An incandescent burning took
Possession of a window frosted now and then,
Thus hallowing an interval
By bestowing benevolence, honor,
One might say hope. At any rate, the snow
Keeps falling, wary grows the wood
In this whitened landscape;
Obtuse objects here and there.
And then, a respite from this winter,
A miracle of sorts — a budding leaf, a
Trickling stream, a radiance from a sun,
No longer the wait for Spring’s descent,
A seizing of the senses, a tenancy rare.
Copyright © 09/04/17 lance sheridan®