Hovering
so close, but not quite touching.
Spirit-bird. Light-
ness of being. Breath. Nape tingling
in response. Cool intake. Hair lifting
now-here, now-t-here, no-where.
Be quick! Suspense hangs the moment.
Caught in honeyed tongue, words
ride high. Fly by! Touchdown
only pulls soaring fantasm earthward
to be measured, sifted, broken
down in parts per billion.
Pot-ass-ium
Bor-on
Calc-iium
Nitro-gen
M-a-g-n-e-s-i-u-m
Decaying matter,
rich loam to digest
as winter sleeps, senescent.
YOU ARE READING
The Smell of Snow
PoetryFrom my home on a tiny island, I smell snow as it begins to fall on the mountains across Baynes Sound. A smell that goes directly up your nostrils with a slight hint of metal or ozone, a bit like refrigerant. And of course I love to confirm my sense...
