Newborn. Again. Retreat, curled. Emerge melted- sitting on the waveworn fence 5 between a shaven and shorn shepherd and another clipped sheep. The mitten-bitten fields are iced too harsh this year for the sheep to eat 10 without slipping like lazy sailors. A bewilderment of flying snow alarms the innocent skin. Sounds cloud this common ground- litter of dispersals, sage shipwrecks, 15 diapason knells gone keening into the miniature distance -oh where?- With an icebreaker's brazen lurch I cut into the blizzard * is earth or water beneath me? - icicle-burdened bows smash glass around me; 20 my wits are tickled awake by white, clear thought, never so precious and precarious before- the crystal edge of living. What is solid is only a matter of the season. 25 JEFF MOLLER and GREGG GLORY
From the collection "Miscellany"
Written by Gregg Glory [Gregg G. Brown]
More information available on gregglory.com.