Finally alone
On a western road--
Dry wheatland
Where we could,
Should be on snowmachines
Or skinny skis--
But dodging stray drifts
On a near-dry
Unplowed road;

Yellow short cut stubble,
Shriveled stocks
Of redbrown sunflowers,
Late morning fog
Hovering about, above
Gray sage hills
Protruding randomly--
High blue ridges
In an unsure distance;

And I'm missing, wanting,
Moving through January.

01/09/2015

Posted on 01/10/2015
Copyright © 2024 Leonard M Hawkes