Aspens Song

The aspens, all overwhelmed

With snow, almost part as I come,

Come trudging glad up through the trees.

Green grass dots the drift-white waves,

Buoys lost in a bright argent sea.

My breath crystalizes even before

It leaves my lips, as if knowing its reach

Is frost-bound and it never will broach

The close canopy—that speech

Is beyond its meager capacity.

Cold is escape and the closeness

Of parting, longing, the distance of skin,

And the dimming of light.

When the mind tries a spark, yet insists

On the shadows that rush toward the night.

And the smoke curls higher

Than I ever could rise,

When we twirl and we spin
Round the fire.

I gather your hands, and your eyes

Cry my name,

And we dance till the night

Sings with light
And with flame.

And still aglow, I race down the foothills

Through tunnels of over-taxed limbs,

Silent but for the bark of my breath,

Lest a shock cause the trees to succumb

To the push of the snow and distress.

Before I’m halfway home your voice

Makes its plea to my chest and my lips

And my longing—they cool and crystalize,

Forming a wound and an ache in my hips.

And the blaze settles lower an inch.

Within sight of home, I again am afraid

Of loss, losing guileless arrogance,

Brilliant inconsequence—all the stuff

Of our busyness, hands holding thighs,

Lips on skin and the joy of enough.

And the smoke curled higher

Than I ever could rise,

When we twirled and we spun
Round the fire.

I gathered your hands, and your eyes

Cried my name,

And we danced till the night

Sang with light
And with flame.

EJR