Snowdrift
In the blue edged blade
of winters harsh constraint
on a chair made more severe
by the pale thinned wind alone
it is unclear
whether the bird left first
or the man
Footprints carved like scars
bruise the snow so vividly
that ripples rise
in the watching eyes
Eyes cut by the knife edged wind
linger over the prints pressed in the ground
hesitating
whether to let them fade
At the rim of longing
that will not fall away
there is the wish
for a wildfire gust
to fling them clear
Instead the wind casts its red cord
and binds me
Thinned by winters sullen cold
the chair yearns
for the rusted chatter
of those who once sat there
in warmer seasons
A leaf held to its branch
loosens and lets itself fall
settling upon the remaining prints
a dry cover laid gently
across what still trembles within
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