Under the sign of Janus

Image hosted by Photobucket.com

The way the snow returns to the sky
is far more painstaking than the way it falls.
Near the end, it turns from ground to figure,
from canvas to paint. It scales the ladder
of its own self-effacement.

Image hosted by Photobucket.com

So the snow withdrew into a clef-shaped cleft
& waited for its cue. This winter could go
either way.

Image hosted by Photobucket.com

The witch hazel measured itself against an oak.
I want to be a tree, it sang, when I grow up –
A bird perch,
An insect metropolis,
A gallery of lichens above,
And below, a husband to fungi.

True, I am all these things already,
But not as a tree.

Leave a Reply

This site uses Akismet to reduce spam. Learn how your comment data is processed.