: Uplands, Winter :
by Emily Rosko
Catch: the morning’s sky went
falling, crystalline clumps
snowheaped.
Firs coated white. In between,
gray. In between the stillness
that might be time
measured for sight. I was quiet most
hours. Heart's pulse. A certain
nothing to mind.
Rabbit tracks print
the yard. Buried woodpile.
Each shiver
and shrink of an old house has been
felt. Mice nesting in
the walls. Some shuffler
boots his way to some car. Some
dour face. Some of
a heaviness.
Could the day change, it won't.
Minus the blue, the gold the sky
a solid permanence.
At noon, the bell out on the hill
snuffed under
a train whistle.
No other sounds
to startle. No startling thought
but here and here and here.
