Traveling To Yuliya
What a delight to realize,
While on my way to Leningrad,
You've given me my first 'White Night' -
A day stretched out before my eyes,
A night that won't exist for me,
As 'out of time' as love can be.
The clouds that stretch out without end
Are dusty white and indistinct,
Yet textured like a spongy fleece,
Like water ruffled by the wind
And frozen then, retains a view,
Abruptly shorn of azure hue.
Much like a child the haloed sun
Ingenuously tries to hide
Though brightly dressed against the cold.
Invisible but just for fun,
From cloud to cloud he's pleased to roam
While playing in a park near home.
With sudden shock I understand
What must have once been truly clouds
Are now pink fields of snow below,
Illusion fading as new land -
Dark sculpted, rocky slopes suffice
To shape the glacial flows of ice.
The stagnant sun prisms its light
Piercing a million floating shards
And cold coagulated clumps,
As frozen rivers end their flight
And spend themselves, collapse, give way,
Into the depths of Hudson Bay.
Copyright © Brian Johnston | Year Posted 2014
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