Cold Front

in memoriam Bill Knott

With the cold front
came news of your death—
a failed bypass—

and a skim of snow
that vanishes at the sun’s touch.
Soon, only shadows are white,

like the letters
I keep trying to form
as my pen runs out of ink.

Series Navigation← In placeThe death of winter →

Dave Bonta (bio) crowd-sources his problems by following his gut, which he shares with 100 trillion of his closest microbial friends — a close-knit, symbiotic community comprising several thousand species of bacteria, fungi, and protozoa. In a similarly collaborative fashion, all of Dave’s writing is available for reuse and creative remix under a Creative Commons Attribution-ShareAlike 3.0 United States License. For attribution in printed material, his name (Dave Bonta) will suffice, but for web use, please link back to the original. Contact him for permission to waive the “share alike” provision (e.g. for use in a conventionally copyrighted work).

2 Replies to “Cold Front”

  1. For what it’s worth, that actually happened. My black ballpoint pen ran out of ink just as I was trying to draft this poem in my pocket notebook. Instead of the snow melts, I got the snow me.

    I’m thinking Bill Knott would’ve had a much better idea what to do with that irony.

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