To move across the landscape like a lost
springbok. A bounding, arcing comma pure
and certain. She circles in a falling scrim
of flake and snow, through fractalled water
without weight. So, wild mind plows paths
through the thick of it and thought gambols
across the page like steady fonts in bloom.
Into the open field the black dog inserts herself.
She means to enrage all that white. She says:
cover your cark and care as I bury my bone.
See how I frolic forward, defiling
the scene. In the absence of my dark
nature, winter would never cease.



Lynn Wagner
Latest posts by Lynn Wagner (see all)