Snow Numb

There are echoes of snow-crunching boots

On these tracks I have tread in the past,

With a new slice of ice underneath

That has deepened a fear of my mass.


As my tremorous knees seek relief,

Through the fog I perceive solid ground,

But the crackings strike chills in my ears

As the stinging of frost bite my crown.


Yet the sight of the driftings above

Which are pregnant with blanketing snow

Are the markers of time marching on

Never pausing or ceasing to flow.


‘Though my feet, which are frozen in fear,

Are unwilling to move like the skies,

I shall do as the heavenlies do

And awaken this sleeper of mine.



Meditation on Breathing


Hold it in your lungs,

The air so weightless

That we soon forget

That it’s even there;



Whose absence is felt,

Whose presence is life,

Leaving us breathless

Thinking of it all.



But the paradox

Is when that air leaves,

It’s the heaviest

Thing imaginable.


Air might be weightless

But breath weighs so much.



The Shoddy Strands

All around are bells that hum

In glassy clinking taut with strings

A knot is tied around my thumb

Each tug a wave of rippling rings.

The dome of gray that serve as sky

And grunge of green that serve as grass

The net of bells go low and high

And only move when I pull back.

So fixed was I upon the bells

That sometimes echoed something new

Within my lifeless body swells

The thought that someone else could move.

Yet from the dome there came a knock

As soft as wool and sharp as death

It sends the ringing like a flock

Of doves to me from east and west.

Like lions do the bells now roar

“My child, my child, you’re not alone,”

The voice rails tender on the door,

“This empty land is not your home.”

This whisper begs me, “Let me in,

My child, before the darkness comes.”

The clamor quiets yet again

The gentle tug against my thumb.