: Uplands, Winter :

by Emily Rosko


Catch: the morning’s sky went

falling, crystalline clumps



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.