December, come to me, selfishly
I call you. I ache to be the only one,
the sole walker, gilt beneath the sun.
But I am not. Cannot. The earth has
known more feet than my fragile
mind can conjure. Mine are two
more only. Winter, another winter,
my footprints mark and mark
where it is impossible not to vanish--
more only. Winter, another winter,
my footprints mark and mark
where it is impossible not to vanish--
as if I were the nothing that is
and is not: the fringe of ice along
the cedar boughs starkly
beautiful and vapid.
and is not: the fringe of ice along
the cedar boughs starkly
beautiful and vapid.
6 comments:
Beautifully written poem.
"my footprints mark and mark
where it is impossible not to vanish--
as if I were the nothing that is
and is not"
I love those lines.
Hi Megan,
This is so intense and the feeling is expressed with such presence. Beautiful!
Well I guess I'm not the only one with a hankering for some snow...
the language of this poem intensifies the cold here. crisp clean words and brisk lines...
thanks for the lovely images
"The earth has
known more feet than my fragile
mind can conjure."
and
"as if I were the nothing that is
and is not"
Wonderful, beautiful, powerful language.
As always, you've created something aesthetically beautiful with words that just roll into each other like old friends on a hillside. But, even more than that, I'm left with that same feeling as always when I read your poetry. I get moments of aha! and yes! and am left also with wanting to sit back and ponder and retrace the lines again and again. Wonderful.
I have just began to wrote poetry. Damn good peotry you make.
Thank you, Jukka. Welcome to poetry and to my little poem place.
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