walk

no body tells you about the snow crunching so loudly
in the dark, each step cracking with meaning and noise.
no body tells you the old road leads up to a high pasture
of fescue breaking through the white in black spumes,
windbowed spines rattling together like waves of sleet.
the wind and groaning woods don’t drown the violent crash
of your feet against the snows, and so you stop to listen.
a coyote yips far off, the stars draw near to you or you are
drawn up, and the grasses dark against the blanketing crust
go on shaking, reaching out. no one said it would be so,
but then again no one told you to come out alone tonight
with the biting wind speaking in gusts, without your gloves;
you only told yourself. in that way of children and animals
you knew you needed some small gift and that if you walked
a long way alone, it would find you. among the frozen fields,
part of you knows it will arrive, surprise you. and it does.

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3 thoughts on “walk

  1. at least those bales of hay in the field weren’t cows or monsters like id thought. gave you room to be contemplative as such!
    the little gifts and surprises of snow and walks are lovely

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