January 19th

 

fades...
for Hazel

January 19^th,

 

little enough wind, &

the old bend in the bough

of the lilac is for now a brief

yoke for yesterday’s,

for today’s, hours & hours

of falling

                        snow.  & below,

 

holding to the thickest

branch, a long

tune of bell-tubes,

whose clapper is a

dainty enough

hut-roof of fluff. 

 

This is the quiet

a tired soul might walk

through, might pause

 

on her now timelessness

of it all, watching the figures

the snow closes over,

their honest geometry

a familiar

coincidence.  No split second  

nows merging into a cacophony

of thought

 

just simply now

and the belonging

to it. & even as this snow,

caught by its weight of

waiting, will surrender to

 

some wind and some sun,

& fall to the moss-

covered stone wall the lilac

is rooted to, it will cool

the music that winter has

set in the throats

of the dark-eyed juncos

sorting through the blown

and scattered chickweed seed

harmonied at their feet.

She sees them.  She sees them

and is relieved.