In the stunned little interval Between winter and spring, Like the held gasp of surprise Preceding real wonder, I'm a flashlight in daylight. Green stirs low down and shows Through dead blond shocks of grass, And gray aspen flowers dangle Above old snowbanks: I go around like a feral saint. The timber hoards Its meager crust of snow. I used to walk over the hill To visit my neighbor About now. Just because he was still alive After another winter. We'd look out the window At the groggy meadow, Not much to say by the end. This year my neighbor is dead So I walk the hill anyway. There's his dead house. There's his dead fence. The timber hoards Its meager crust of snow. I'm a gunnysack of gravel. I'm sudden as a gust of light. This is just The stunned little interval After another winter, The held gasp of surprise Preceding real wonder. Used with the permission of Copper Canyon Press, P.O. Box 271, Port Townsend, WA 98368-0271, www.cc.press.org | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...MIMNERMUS IN CHURCH by WILLIAM JOHNSON CORY CHARLIE MACHREE by WILLIAM JAMES HOPPIN ON THE PORTRAIT OF SHAKESPEARE by BEN JONSON CHRISTMAS LULLABY by MARY KATUS ANDERSON POSSESSED by RUTH FITCH BARTLETT BLAKE'S APOLOGY FOR HIS CATALOGUE by WILLIAM BLAKE IN VINCULIS; SONNETS WRITTEN IN AN IRISH PRISON: A DREAM OF GOOD by WILFRID SCAWEN BLUNT |