An Open Window in WInter.


Long since winter’s fall

the snow grim and cold

frigid on rooftops and bent branches

crusting shell of white on the ground


In a dark classroom

streams of light fall across faces and desks

talking in biological dissection

of poetry

Enveloped in ideas

of fallen leaves and uncorseted housewives

of important wheelbarrows and flopping breasts

The dull grey recourse of hashed out ideas

Solid tundra continent above

Solid tundra continent below


The desk is composite plastic wood

and I sit dulled by continents and metros



A cool breeze

A cool caress rising across the back of my neck


seasoned in this soft air is the inlay of sun

The cool breath of beach air

the waving grass and hazy blacktop

The sparkling warmth of spring!

Turning suddenly Through the dingy window

holding treaded paths

and from my seat is communicated

a space of blue sky cracking the sheet above

clarity striking the pines and the tar roof house


How many others have looked out this window?

How many others have wandered the brambles

and branches in their minds

The Viney White Roman Pillars

in the blur of these old window’s grime

How many have, after winter’s mute, felt in surprise on their neck,

the soft breath of euphoric spring?

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