There is light now
in the mornings. I wake
away from my dreams.
It is snowing. Trees
stand straight, colorless
against the white sky.I cannot seem
to begin. Snow
fills the corners
of my house. Silent.
Glistening. Ice
on the mirrors.I have been
in winter forever.
I cannot see
your face. Frost
blurs the pictures
in their frames.
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@WATERMARK |A Poet's Notebook
- Disclaimer
Please do not assume that I am the speaker/ subject of my poems.
In these times of creative nonfiction and fictionalized memoirs, I think of the poem itself as true fiction: it is most likely not factual, but it must be true.
It is likely to be -- it is best if it is -- a truth I did not know before I wrote, and may not understand even then.
A poem is my way of discovering (dis-covering) what I feel; sometimes, what I think -- but it is not necessarily biographical.
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