Wednesday, May 3, 2017

Poem Silhouetted by Timothy James Stouffer


Against the last of Winter’s 
remnant, pines strike
a pose familiar.  When 
the skies wouldn’t stop
weeping but couldn’t
agree on flakes or tears,
the sun, brief and frustrated,
settled the matter.

A signature on that first
day of May that fleeting
formed a question mark
in the second morning
and inquiried of us all.  What
do we think
the shadows keep?
Who might the 
light reveal with
its brush under the boughs?

Sifting through the slush
of sunrise, my fingers grow
cold and numb
searching by feel in the thick darkness
for the words to our song
that began with Spring
but has lost itself
against the reflection
of the reaching
Red Pines.

Where is it that the path
leads us two from here?
Like some darkened maw
swallowing the borders
marked so carefully
on the map we hold.

©Timothy James Stouffer 05/02/2017

All Rights Reserved Ely, Minnesota

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