Tag Archives: Winter
It was the cold snap of the glyphic branch that awakened him to the grave misunderstanding between fall and winter and the nature of dreams unlived.
Spring, tender bud raising gravity in the center of a palm. Summer, drawn and quartered shafts of light mouthing the sea. Fall, fetal leaves curling in on themselves— inversion banking on faith. Winter, hospitable merger of bare limbs relishing arson … Continue reading
Winter’s brides, wearing long white scarves of sleet and song, touching pale sky to blue lips, breathing memory and frost; their sorrow and spectral want grows hands that enclose me, a robust crush, matrimonial in its grip, until I am … Continue reading
Boy and girl, sledding tongues, no words— Winter, warming up.
Winter, tolling the climes of Grief’s wraith, or, how the feathers of first snow, falling, chasten the dead in lasting refrain.
Grief, engendering the climes of Winter’s wraith, or, how the sound of white fire, falling, in reverse, encloses the dead in penitent refrain.
(Written in response to Josef Sudek’s “Winter at the Window of my Atelier”) Winter frame-up of god’s run-on fingerprints, evidence of weary sorrow, mounting, unfinished.
I. Eyes. When I called them winterblue, you said, oh really, the O a fat bright balloon twisted into a curious animal. Really, I insisted, and explained how, when written, I’d compound winter and blue, words holding hands to get … Continue reading