The Season`s Transience

When the Light falls on Winter evenings

and the River makes no sound in its passing

behind the House, is silent but for its Cold

flowing, its reeds frozen stiffer than glass…

…how can one anticipate the Dawn, a sudden

blazing of Sunlight thawing the harshest Sky?

…how can one not remember Summer evenings?

…must not the tired Heart sink and must not fear

bite, like an acid, wrinkles in its stone?

Behind drawn curtains, gazing at the Fire,

think how the Earth spins dumb and bound

by iron chains of frost through death-still air;

and how in every street the sealed windows

and orange cubes of firelight, how in houses

clicking clocks imitate the Spring, candles are Suns.

Perpetual Winters never known,

families warm their hands and wait, nor

ever doubt the Season`s transience.

The fires of this shining white black crystalline evening burn into the opal pearl iridescent ash of a dry Winter`s Dawn. Flaming white ice blossoms quenched in the sunnier days that hastily come.

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