Here is a greeting to winter.
Hello Winter, hello flanneled
blanket of clouds, clouds
fueled by more clouds, hello again.
off to the west, that silver
of sunset, rust-colored
and gone too soon.
And night (I admit to a short memory)
you climb back in with chilly fingers
and clocks, and there is no refusal:
ice cracks the water main, the garden hose
stiffens, the bladed leaves of the rhododendron
shine in the fog of a huge moon.
And rain, street lacquer,
oily puddles and spinning rubber,
mist of angels on the head of a pin,
and snow, upside-down cake of clouds,
white, freon scent, you build
even as you empty the world of texture-
hello to this new relief,
this new solitude now upon us,
upon which we feed.
from Soul Data, 1998
University of North Texas Press, Denton, TX
Copyright 1998 by Mark Svenvold.
All rights reserved.
Reproduced with permission (click for permissions information).