Friday, February 13, 2015

Shoveling snow at 4 a.m.




Shoveling snow at 4 a.m.


You dragged your feet when you went out.
By the gate now the snow is grown, the different snows,
Too deep to clear them away!
                                                Li T’ai Po

Two weeks ago, out shoveling snow, I saw the moon
was over
my right shoulder
full and quiet.  And not a cloud not one cloud.  She is
half herself today
and at this point
in the day (not even
four a.m.) she’d/we’d be
nearly face to face—I’d like to,
bare handed, reach out into the wind chill
of minus thirteen
and caress what cheek
                                    at this distance
lays and lays against me.  Instead
it’s snow cold as Manitoba
cold as half way through
the race—
            she’s so much like milk
            like a mother undone
                        from the shoulder to the hip
                        leaning over the crib
            of the world to pick
            up the fisted baby and lift her, while
            under, the road out is covered
            with snow, and the howl of coming morning
            is a percussion and a trumpet

No comments:

Post a Comment