My winter pages are white as snow.
\nThe solitude of winter takes my words away.
\nI stand like a tree, still and bemused.
\nTurning my eyes, watching the boys play.
\nLike winter squirrels scratching
\nat the ground.
\nFashioning little planets,
\nthrowing them into free-fall
\nwithout a sun to catch them.
\nI am content to be where I am,
\na part of wind and cold,
\nof gray peace in the clouds.<\/p>\n
Time was, I was a boy.
\nI was a hare hopping about.
\nI shouted and screamed like a crow.
\nI dived at the whiteness like a lynx.
\nNow I am thought.
\nThe knife edge of a cold blade.
\nThe blackness inside a white well.
\nI have changed.
\nI am evening,
\nI am distance.
\nA wisp of warmth exhaled from my lungs,
\nignited by the cold.
\nContent to be quiet,
\noutside a poem.<\/p>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":"
My winter pages are white as snow. The solitude of winter takes my words away. I stand like a tree, still and bemused. Turning my…<\/p>\n