A Kiss in the Night
Cold. Ice fog has coated the grass and flowers
creating a new kind of life,
short lived as the first day of spring,
Lace on the ground,. Lace in the garden.
Fragile and perfect until the shift of two degrees
and everything falls back to normal,
brown and winter dead.
A wiser man would keep moving,
find his way to warmer places
where breath is not visible,
and ears do not burn with frost.
But wisdom has never been your guiding light
and you have seen things few others have experienced.
Some healthy. Some less so.
All of them though, fragile and passionate
as a kiss in the night.
About this poem.
Intensely personal this one. A few secrets I keep to myself. But my guess is many of you will find your own meaning. And you will be right.
The picture was taken last winter, just down the road from my house in Vermont.