Tuesday, January 13, 2009

Winter


Gray and grainy, not smooth, not bright, nor right!

Hearty and cool, for my soul a school,
lessons best learned on the run.
A dazzling sheen, jagged ice that is mean,
and distrustful of all that is right.

A thin sheen of fog dangles over the plane,
tiny world of mystical mist,
blue and gray and cool and epic,
this world of oncoming night.

A blade that is hard,
and cutting,
ruthless and mirthless and might,
grinds as it cuts and in building up ruts
makes the journey, the journey to right.

Building speed,
riding steed,
breath so cold that the billowing need
is fullfilled by an air
that is barely just there,
headlong rush refrescante'indeed,
and a stop so abrupt,
some warmth in a cup,
and nod off to dream like a seed.

A field to tend,
a world without end,
rest now, linger, so as always to mend . . .