A Way Through

"When the poem reminds you / you're breathing..."

A Way Through 


When the poem reminds you
you’re breathing, alive
within a language
that leaves you 
wordless, even as
grief pixelates
the hour
and this voice
that serves 
as company
and compass
in December’s dark
draws you toward
the margin, what
the words wash up
against, wrack zone
of sound, rubble
of sound, from which
morning emerges.
Through shallow sun
snow ambles in a spiral
narrowing into traffic— 
falls and continues to fall 
into its own disappearance.