An Exaltation of Stillness

 
Before this afternoon’s interrupted thaw,
crystal daggers released their snowflake essence;
the flow now waits, poised and opaque.
 
In a muted and brilliant landscape,
feather ice on crusted snow
tells of fast-moving rabbits.
Fog settles among iced branch tips,
to linger at dawn in delicate hoarfrost.
 
Like a change of constellations,
the song of a summer coyote
becomes the cold sound of an owl, and
though I stand here in the bristling chill
to receive an exaltation of stillness,
I gladly inhale that echoing call.

Having Been to the Ocean at Westport
          My last poem for William
 
We used to laugh about visiting the top of the world.
Here I am, standing at the limits of your watery grave,
Above waves that crash against the rock of my heart,
Beat against my wretched letting go,
Draw me toward another conversation -
The abrupt edge where you used to be,
And I can’t turn that way.
 
We used to laugh about visiting the top of the world.
Here I am, standing at the edge of my world -
The limits of the western sea,
Flooding my heart with the sea in my eyes.
I search the mists and ethers;
The familiar sounds are hollow.
 
Today I will not be able to reach the top of the world.
Today I can only come to the edge.
It’s the same as looking at the sky.
Rabbit Road  

Heading west on the highway
I pass seven miles of rabbit road.
18-wheelers have reduced their dimensions
To a new kind of mile marker.
I do my best not to drive over their
Smoothed out hides, ironed
Before some carrion-eater
Can clutch them and give them wings.