frosted,

a glaze, a film

not a blanket

parading past the bus window

skeletons of trees

crystals, sprouted from the ground

forests of hunched, encrusted saplings

bows without arrows

crippled, perhaps, for life

or occasional evergreens

heads bowed in reverence

to the oppressive masque

a barn, here and there

white-roofed, red-walled

proud but not haughty

the crown yet unmelted

because all that is warm inside

are shivering horses

the lake sits by:  no waves, no ripples

skate calligraphy abandoned by its engravers

for fear of thin patches

the rocks, the oldest denizens

have seen this all before

and wear it all patiently,

gain a crack or two,

and stoically wait

for whatever is next.

(Mass. Pike, Winter 1973)

06/24/2003

Posted on 06/25/2003
Copyright © 2024 Bruce W Niedt