When I was
young and in my prime, winter time
in Minnesota had no promise or memory of warmth!
Always incommode by snow, pouring down
through the
cracks of the sky, like cats and dogs of all
size—it took
All my energy to last the winter out—waiting
to clutch the
Grass of spring; thus, I could hear the earth drinking
And sighing, —soaked, bowed grasses as if tormented:
henceforward,
for memory sake, just galling! And so on.
But I now have left her for a new lover: the
mountains and
the sea—for a few new fixed starts, lest I go blindly
In circles in the haunting dark Andes…!
#3469/11-19-2012/ For: Gail Weber
