The Pilgrim

snow swirls among the browning grasses
the moans of the wind
are unanswerable

bent forward
sack over his shoulder
eyes fixed downwards
rapidly blinking against the wind
the thin layer of snow over the road
is as pristine as an abstraction
until he tracks through it

idealism got him started
the novelty of it kept him moving through the worst
now he is cold
the sack seems to be getting heavier
and there is only the black pleasure
of duty being done
totally devoid of extrinsic motivation

did this fate senselessly fall to him
or was he elected to it?
one foot in front of the other, he thinks
one foot in front of the other

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Minor Spirit

you knew instantly when you entered the clearing

the swollen silence
when you saw her
and you knew she was seeing you

amazed
your pupils reamed out
until the hanging dust was star-spangled
and the sun-dappled undergrowth was jewel-encrusted

"Who am I?"
you asked yourself then
"Who am I, forever?"

it all evaporated to the everyday
but sometimes you lose sight of a deer into the trees
and you remember
you see her looking back over her shoulder

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A Dialogue about Snowdrifts

"bleak monuments
to the north wind's malice"

"crystal barrows
raised for high summer gods
who died drunk at harvest"

"it can all be said
in the tropes of stellar prophecy:
the millstone heavens grind away
each generation
tries to unlearn nihilism"

"I greedily drink the splendor
from these reservoirs of moonlight"