(after a form by Lex Runciman)
March snow storm—fast, fat,
furry flakes from the Coast Range
all the way across the Valley
floor to the Cascade
rim of our white ceramic
parse glimpses of newborn lambs
suckling first milk:
white on white on white,
snowy air of my heart.
Skies of my heart cover
the woven basket of wetland
reeds, alkali flats,
sagebrush steppes: myths and rivers
of my childhood. Passive blue eye,
you who have seen my father’s curiosity,
followed his red socks into the desert,
trained his eyes to see
your Great Web, you will not blink
when my river, too,
has dried to a sand arroyo under your
burnt landscape of my heart.
And I have been followed by people
I do not know
into streets I have had to name myself.
At dawn, when mist rises
from the river and the fishermen
drink coffee, string line under the pilings
of the creosote docks,
the lovers find each other by the jade elephants
in Ye Olde Curiosity Shoppe and children
tag their way to school through the back
alleys and dusty lots
of the lost city of my heart.
Be adventurous and kind,
tragic people of my heart,
I am inventing you
while my lungs still breathe
and the snow still falls
cold and white:
air of my heart.
March 12, 2009
2 thoughts on “Heartsong Snowstorm”
Oh my, one helluva powerful poem. I don’t think you need to ever have any doubt. You just have to keep doing this stuff. It is going to take me awhile to digest this one. I love the line: ” I have been followed by people
I do not know
into streets I have had to name myself.”
That knocks on some door way in there – incredibly deep. Evokes sadness, inevitability but a lot more.
I checked into Lex Runciman and I am not familiar with the style you mentioned. However, his name is a gift to me as his poetry is available online and I am enjoying it a lot. Cheryl