Subnivean

holloway overhung with ancient trees n Cornwall
This entry is part 11 of 91 in the series Toward Noon: 3verses

 

Like varicose veins
in the thinning snow, the dark
tunnels of the voles.

My garbage is nothing
but coffee grounds, each morning
wrapped in its filter-shroud.

I miss summer:
those small millipedes that glide
across the bathroom floor.

Miner

holloway overhung with ancient trees n Cornwall
This entry is part 16 of 91 in the series Toward Noon: 3verses

 

Opossum out at mid-day
on the glare ice
wipes its snout with its paws.

It’s digging through the crust
to reach food we’ve pitched—
old barbecue sauce, rotten cabbage—

inserting its head
as if through the shell
of a great white egg…

Snowfall

holloway overhung with ancient trees n Cornwall
This entry is part 18 of 91 in the series Toward Noon: 3verses

 

The slow and steady
accumulation of snow
making everything strange

reminds me of my father
reading aloud to the family
from a book in his lap,

the whisper of pages turning,
each of us building a picture
all our own.

Pastoral

holloway overhung with ancient trees n Cornwall
This entry is part 19 of 91 in the series Toward Noon: 3verses

 

The squirrel’s tracks end
in a smudge of blood on the snow,
one tuft of fur

and the long furrow
its dangling tail drew
beside the fox’s footprints.

Alone in the field,
a bulldozer lowers its blade
to a white and heavy harvest.