Deep in woods, footsteps muffled
by fresh snow— Yanty Creek sings
its lonesome repair to this year’s un-
ending peril that slips beneath a thin
skin of ice.
In the distance, between two pines,
light snow drifts like feathers—
no bird in sight—to speak of this
literature of loss, this hypnotic
vortex of stars.
Endlessly repeating—waves of
exhale—I think gods are hiding
in tree bark— unblinking eyes
watching me walk to the pond’s
edge—I’m here today.
Lost in reflection— the pond
drinks the sky without clouds,
without hesitation— I want to
catch my breath blossoming
in cold air.
M.J. Iuppa’s fourth poetry collection is This Thirst (Kelsay Books, 2017). For the past 32 years, she has lived on a small farm near the shores of Lake Ontario. Check out her blog: mjiuppa.blogspot.com for her musings on writing, sustainability & life’s stew.