so often the sky looks more
maternal than the earth
i am listening to the traffic
of wind through bare trees
snow on the cliffs growing
roots of ice
from the drained lake
a mechanical thumping
I recall a feeder stream
in lurid unrhyming orange
what’s behind the allegheny front
but played-out coal
the late afternoon light
gains a hint of sunset
warm air dancing with cold air
the clouds turn voluptuous
and the distance even bluer
my own mountain included
on the way home
the apparition of an old man
bent nearly double beside the road
dragging a full bin of trash
the next day snow falls
soft and heavy even in the valleys
with winds off the front
molehills become mountains again
trees are striped white
on the weather side
down in the hollow i spot
the first winter wren in weeks
bobbing with excitement
at the end of a snowy limb
