“Stride”
a new poem
Stride
The freezing night
seals a chamber
of wordless prayer
between my mouth
and hands. Wind
kicks snowdrifts
into static; heavy
pine boughs
scaffold the dark.
Leave it to late winter
to drown out
an inner voice,
the mumbling locus
of a poem.
That was a form
of warmth, a small fire
in the chest, a thing
to conjure
and watch over
as hours pass.
Tonight,
I take dictation
from without,
from lack,
and lean
into another gust.
A few windows
along the road
glow deep umber
and I hold the color
under my tongue
until it dissolves.



For a moment there I forgot where I was! Thank you for this mornings out of body experience, and for the reminder what fully charged language actually is.
Such a beautiful last line. Warm light become a sacrament.