OCR Text |
Show February In the mountain cove, under the lee of a cupped ridge, under limestone fingers looming against the backlight. From this ocean trench of winter, the sun describes a low arc, rises and sets two hours apart; the shadowed air is cold, 0163]? and still. Facing profound quiet, each thought drifts separate with tattered edges, an owl's shadow. The last-fallen leaves of maple, scattered like love's glances on the blankness of snow and days, keep a vivid, faint scarlet in their folds. Like a flash of eyes, locked, flaring, a chain of burning between body and body, momentous concord that ages from early green, dries and twists and rattles away in wind. (cent.) |