For Karen
Ah, welcome to one
who in name and spirit
understands life within the ice.
I post this in hopes of encouraging
more poems on this theme of
Winter
faucon
SILENT CRY
I think the ice crystals shriek as they force
climb the rocky face
where yesterday we sought out tiny patterns
of mottled hue and quartzine ridge.
I sense the frozen laughter of children splashing
in the pool here where now even my distorted reflection
is still half locked in summer mist.
I see there in barren bush the frozen tears
of lovers on the bench and hear a silent call to join
there in the snow and sweep away the trembling fears.
Yet I crouch here instead by choice with rocks
hard and sharp that cut my knees and cramp my weary
aging joints so that I may never rise again.
I do this for the miracle, my friend, that I know
will surely move within this frozen glade where imagined
death is close at hand and palpable.
Even now I hear the pulsing sob of the waterfall
as its tinkling nature is silenced into an icy fist
of protesting will for demanding life.
Now in the balance, at that brief point where life's
willful protest is cold stilled with the approaching night,
there is trembling vibrant peace.
The single, tiny branch trembles in anticipation
and the heat and light
of my simple presence is enough
to thaw a single,
yearning drop of life.
It flows slowly down the blackened branch
to hang
in suspenseful vibration of indecision -
do you hear it?
Hear it cry in joy and fear
and hope?
It drops - spinning -
a perfect sphere of pure light,
and birth and doubtful freedom.
Hear it sing - sing?
Crystal chimes and echoed dreams?
It is frozen still again
even as it touches down
on the waiting glittering pool of mocking
black pebbles and shattered
ice-bound summer's fronds.
Did you hear it?
At that moment where transitory life surrendered
to cold silence
with sure knowledge of what we fools dare
call defeat?
It is worth the wait here in the snow
and chilling wind and hard
fought silence of the night
to hear the lasting sigh -
Yes! Yes!
Yes! Yes!
2 Comments:
Beautiful, Faucon ...
Oh faucon, how lovely to see this! So beautiful - I grew up with cold snowy winters in Ireland and Britain and I well remember the magic of the thaw, when spring became more than a promise...
Now I welcome the cooler days of autumn here.
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