Madison Letters



Dear Ones - on the lakepath, runnels

of snowmelt, the bare willow branches

hazed with sun, only a few ice fishermen

still standing out on the ice, looking

into the fog on the lake's horizon.

Open water at the marsh inlet - two mallards

bobbing their heads at each other, a jostle

of other voices - the deep red of dogwood stems,

bright clusters of highbush cranberry,

black spatter of old leaves and crow.

My body asking to leap, to run -

everything breaking up, moving, speaking.

You've read  of  free articles. Subscribe to continue.
QR Code to Madison Letters
Read this article in
QR Code to Subscription page
Start your subscription today