Disembodied
Jan 7 2022
The lake ice
cracks in the cold
with a sharp percussive clap.
A dead snag
crashes to the ground
shattering as it goes.
The trees groan,
flexing back and forth
in a stiff north wind.
Their sap has frozen,
brittle branches
snap and fall.
And when it's calm
if you stop and strain your ears
you may even hear mice
scurry beneath the snow
on tiny pink feet.
You hold your breath
and listen closely,
the singular focus
stilling your thoughts.
So much so, you feel disembodied,
as if the silence
had swallowed you whole;
like the tree that falls
without a sound
because there's no one there to hear.
Only to leave you stranded
when the wind returns
and fills your footsteps with snow,
standing
in a vast expanse of white
out of sight of shore.
No comments:
Post a Comment