The Vane’s Bearing
A cold gale you were,
Cutting thru morn’s darkness;
Blue metal your blade in a wailing blur;
Crystals bending pines’ redress.
Frozen still foliage
Among felled cones – the earth below;
A master’s abstract seen offstage
Among nature’s tempest flow!
Fading lights in the storm;
Distant shadows they’d become.
Watching fast their dimming form
Disappear in the howling drum.
Stacked grey stones
Lined among once sprightly green fields,
Winding their way among buried bones
And sepulchers long ago sealed!
Winter’s rivers and rivulets
Vetting green and not immune,
Icing over silhouettes
Arresting gratitude’s flowing tune.