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iced windows
cold draft, I shiverand firm up my willsunrise view obscuredthrough ice on the sill sub-thirty degreesbeyond two glass panesbreach fortress of warmthamid frosted plains one finger to glassturns frost into tearsreleasing brief drops from chill winters fears raw radiant chill bracing, brisk and boldI draw shut the blindsand hide from the cold – bardo It
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squall
as the door clicked shutmy headlamp broadcast a stark beamslicing a path through the winter dark as I took my first stepsmy watch reached skyward for a signaltracking my pace across the icy walks as I started to runmy face caught the sudden rush of windsensing the winter air stirring ahead in the park as
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boundary
I am not a poet, but a friend has inspired me to read more of it and think more critically about its place in the constellation of my creative pursuits. Occasionally, I’d like to post a poem here when inspiration strikes. boundarydemarcated by strict panels of hewn lumberset against remnant forest clinging to a river