The grey lid has been
lifted off the day.
Sun spills everywhere—
on snow, on house, on
me at the window.
No wind in the willow,
no birds in bare branches,
no sadness in the absence.
Only the shine, instead,
the spin and dalliance
of every amazing
particular thing
in the long, the lovely
the almost perfect light.
"Winter Afternoon, Early December" by Tom Montag. Text as published in In This Place: Selected Poems 1982-2013 (Tom Montag, 2014). Reprinted by permission of the poet.
Art credit: Untitled image by unknown photographer.
Curator's note: Please take my two-minute survey before A Year of Being Here concludes on January 1. It will help me (and any potential publishers) decide upon an anthology of mindfulness poetry.
wonderfully evocative poem, Tom. And thank you, curators, for a terrific series--I'll miss you in my inbox, come January!
ReplyDeleteYou're very welcome, Robin. (Have to smile at "curators." Just me and my alter ego.) Happy holidays!
DeleteBeautiful poem. Lifted my mood on this somewhat less shimmering day, but still a fine December streaked in fog.
ReplyDelete