The raw brightness
of blue air,
acuity of lawn
grass salvaging green
from a past exposed,
and luster of snow’s
blank white, tethering
distant ridge lines
brings force
to the great body
of reviving lake.
Water, broken,
pulls out from shore’s
shadow, along
invigorated
currents, flexing
the slow surface
light’s tips hit,
their driving
jewel-like
puncture wounds
bedazzling
the elemental
meeting place.
Across the bay
pines collar
an inlet of ice,
its field upturned
like an erupted
heart’s.
In this orderly
change of season,
the tarried stillness
makes me seem loud,
thawed, even,
to myself.
Illusions flit
easily across
the promise of birth,
though one can walk
its boundary:
dark rock outcrops
overhung
with cedars, gnarled
roots that nurture
mammoth icicles
and mounds glazed
with frozen designs.
Remote from new life
as a person’s
interior, cold
luster preserves
the sure slips ahead.
Martin publishes his poems and writing about poetry at www.alleybeat.blogspot.com.
This article appears in Apr 21-27, 2010.
Got something to say?
Send a letter to the editor and we'll publish your feedback in print!