Hello Winter, hello flanneled blanket of clouds, clouds fueled by more clouds, hello again.
Hello afternoons, 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, hello,
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.
Poems by Mark Svenvold, Mark Svenvold's poems collection. Mark Svenvold is a classical and famous poet . Share all poems of Mark Svenvold.