Blood draining from her chapped lips She hurries over the stained white pages
Of trampled snow—a coveted warmth Blinding her with its nuance
& quiet as morning on every sidewalk She speaks the brisk sounds a poet makes
Her breath is pure Russian winter & like a dead man picking fruit in a blizzard
The whispers of the others sleeping in lock-down Tell her someone is groping for meaning
In the shadows of the orchard But in the pose of things frozen in procession--
White flecks of sun On the tree lined streets!
But whose peaches Are these peaches, she wonders, spilling out
Chaotically tonight all over the icy Alewife Brook Parkway? The good luck
Has been edited all out of them & snow Buries this business of misfortune
-- Raymond Farr is author of Ecstatic/.of facts (Otoliths 2011), & Writing What For? across the Mourning Sky (Blue & Yellow Dog 2012), sic transit—“g” (Blue & Yellow Dog 2012, 2016), Poetry in the Age of Zero Grav (Blue & Yellow Dog 2015) & 2 e-chapbooks, Eating the Word NOISE! (White Knuckle Chaps 2015), & A Journey of Haphazard Miles (ALT POETICS 2016). Raymond is editor of Blue & Yellow Dog, now archived at http://blueyellowdog.weebly.com & publisher/editor of a new poetry blog, The Helios Mss.