“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.