Jeremy Seligson writes

16.

O

L

D

G

U

Y

W

I

N

T

E

R

                        Cradle

            up

                        to

                                    bury

                                                on

                                    Cat

                                        Hill

            ~ my

                        dear

                                    friend

As

            he

                        gives

                                    his

          last

                    breath

leaving

            a

                        heap

            of

                        black

                                    and

                                                white

                        I

                                    sigh

                    Curtains

                                        of

                                                  light

            open

                                    through

                                                            pines

                        for

                                    one

                                                kneeling

                                                                        soul

Old

          guy

                        shambles

                                                by

            No~

                        where

                                    special

                                                to

                                                            go

Can’t

            find

                        a

                                    path

            Still,

                        his

                                    body

                                                knows

            Once

                        sky

                                    goes ~

            a

                        cloud

                                    country

            over

                        which

            you

                        could

                                    wander

                                                            for

                                                                        days

                        Glance

          away

                        and

                                     soon

                                                sight

                                                           

                                                            valleys

                                                of

                                                            snow

Starving

          white

                    dog

                       

                                    has

                                                broken

                                                            free

            leaving

                        her

                                    chains

                                                for

                                                            me

                        “What’s

                                    drifting

                                                by …?”

                                                           

                                    “Just

                                                another

                                                            old

                                                            white

                                                                      dog …”

                                                White

                                                            dog

                                    and

                                                gray

                                                            man

                        cross

                                    paths

                                                                                   

                                                ~ just

                                                  ghosting

          Over

                              Snow

                                                  Mountain

~ my

                        only

                                                friend

Magpies ~

                        cold

                                    and

                                                clacking ~

            of

                        course,

                                    they’d

                                                have

                        some~

                                    thing

                                                to

                                                            say

                        Cold

            and

                        wet

                                    ~ blown

                                                low

                        only

            crows

                        cling            

           

                                    on

                        such

                                    branches

                                    “Who

                                        am

                                                  I …?”

                        A

                                    sheet               

                                                of

                                                            ice

                                                                        replies

Finger

            your

                        name

                                    in

                                                snow

            She

                    already

                              knows

          A

                    white

                              rabbit

                                                chomps

                                                            leeks               

                                    in

                                                snow

                        “Could

                                    I

                                                carry

                                                            you

                                                                        home

                                                for

                                                            my

                                                                        daughter …?”