I thought I’d share a short winter poem from the manuscript I’ve been working on for the last several months, Decades: Selected Poems.
Decades consists of poems culled from the seven full-length collections, and several dozen chapbooks, that I’ve published over the last twenty years.
I’ll publish the book under my own imprint, The Exile Press, in late spring.
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Now that the animal
trapped in the rafters
is silent, the cold alone
is a sound.
February’s glare
bent by Victorian glass
casts the outline
of a spike of ice
spread from floor to ceiling—
the only thing
holding the house up.
‘the cold alone is a sound.’ I’ll never experience ‘cold’ the same again. Thank you Joseph.
" the cold alone
is a sound."
Brilliant.