Walking Without Paths

At a certain point, cold is cold.
You can no longer tell the difference
between negative this and negative that.
Everything is frozen.
the car refuses to start
and nothing drips out of the faucet,

a truth that lives in most things.
What is the difference between a 9 and a ten
on the pain scale? I cannot tell.
Pain is pain.
Darkness is darkness.
Loss is loss.
Empty is empty. You have felt them all
to such a scale that there was no difference
that could be explained, or felt.

and the climbing out has no timetable
or predictability. That you act in a faith
that feels like it has no basis in truth.
Walking without a path. Waiting for a sun
cold as ice.

About this poem.

16 below this morning and I seem to be in one of the warmer spots here in Vermont. The inspiration for this morning.

Tom