A Winter Evening in Vermont

 

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Somewhere in my soul

there is still snow

on an open field

in Vermont.

 

It is still

 

sunset silhouettes

of trees reaching

for pale sheet of sky

stretched thin above

little lives.

 

It is still

 

a little

red

shed

of animal bedding

and broken tools and pallets

we prop up like ladders

to reach the roof.

 

It is still

 

air glittery with

errant snowflakes,

relocating with the wind.

 

It is still

 

snow boots on a

frozen pond,

black-ice footprints

in the snow

and nowhere

to go.

 

It is still

 

snow angels

and frozen toes

and no one home

but you and me

and nowhere

to be

for days.

 

It is still.

Somewhere in my soul

there is still.

 

 

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