Light

What do we say when the fears are near and dear

Splashing our conscience as an ebbing brook would

Foaming at the shores edge carrying a listless leaf into its midst

Such minute chaos in limited space

The pines stand tall guarding the dark recesses of habit

A hare leaps into the light of a cloudless midday

Leaving behind the warmth of its den

Thirst brings forth the tiny animal

To view such selection is to reason with progress

For a spell the highway lays bare in the distance

A helicopter may float on the horizon

Yet all is soulful at the forests divide

Peckers assault dead trunks beneath the canopy

Their cacophony steady as the breeze

The plodding creature bends by the water

Takes his fill and bounces off.  

A Thaw

This space is dripping

With force in the morning fog

Amulets from above rain down

Splattering the rising mercury

Often the trucks come through

Clearing the depositories that run beneath

Fear the flood their lights cry out

If not for the cold ahead

Spirits would bloom of earth and mind

A siren calls with this dawn

These clouds seemingly months ahead

Little left to do except listen

Thump come the drops

The beating drum beats

Beneath the roofs edge.   

Shadow

If I knew where you were would you call out to me

For as long as the rays seek down upon this snow

I drift wishing you were here

The wind may make me dance a jig

Or two with arms outstretched

Thoughts of you steady me

As if I could touch your form

From so far below

How much higher is one of us from the other

I wonder with the passing seconds

Perhaps I am above you at this point

Am I confusing myself with these reflexive skyward glances

Are you metres below

Hidden in some cavern of the mind

Then dig I must spilling the earth into piles

I picture the effort for spring will come

As certain as the lost cardinal in the birch

I know this for certain.  

Roof

Behold the heights where the wind is clear

Sweeping all with crisp cold

Delight in the minus sixteen

Whirl with the snow drifts

Meters ahead icicles curl nearly to the ground

The sun judges the morning

Face feels frost bitten

Swinging the shovel

The result is only heard by a thud on the piles below

A daring soul could have peered over the edge

To watch the forms fall

Fearing the fall I back away

Leaving the scene.