Winter Passing

 

Winter Passing

 

A latitude of long faces, their hair upswept

in old tangles & held fast with duty

It is hard to walk through sleep & fire

It is hopeless to hang hope out & chase

the tail of things

I stretch into one moment & find you in another

We are the crossing bones of blind statues

Straight ahead long rows of houses become identical

Books of pain meticulously copied blow open pages

I walk in a spiral of sleep toward Spring

Everything we grow together meets in April

Snowdrifts still linger in the river's upper strand.

 

 

Reviews

[Angela H.]

I hear the winter in this poem. There is a starkness, a gray waiting. Such beautifully sad images, such as "a latitude of long faces" and "books of pain meticulously copied" leave me yearning for the sun.

Beautifully written.