Sunday, August 6, 2017

This poem was recently revised, and due to formatting problems has been re-posted out of chronological order.

Walking Home on a Cold Winter Evening
Feb 11 2008

It’s high pressure cold;
sky clear
all the way out to the ozone.
In thin night air
where the molecules have slowed
close to absolute zero.
A transparent dome
where the stars are sharp as lasers.

I walk
muffled, layered
soft snow underfoot,
through a city of houses like ships at sea
all leaning into the breeze.
Their chimneys huff-out smoke,
trailing away
as if steaming into headwinds.

And it might just as well be mid-Atlantic,
becalmed in oceanic dark.
Where great waves swell, but cannot break;
long unstoppable rollers
rocking us in place.

A small city on a tiny planet
forging through the ocean of ether
that holds the universe up.
So close
I could reach-up and touch
the hard black edge of space.

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