Morning Poem, December 27, 201

Get up and out

before the hard frost is melted

before the paintings it has made

over the ice over the puddles

that angular geometry, lines and corners

like etchings of giant snowflakes

and the glistening whitewash of the tall grass

in the morning sun

is vanished into the grays and browns

of everyday.

Get up

This cold air is wine for the lungs

and all is so quiet now that you may hear

the wings of the winter birds in flight

and think long and calm

Get up

it will all disappear in moments

into traffic and hurry.

Get up.

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1 Response to Morning Poem, December 27, 201

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