Poem Silhouetted by Timothy James Stouffer

Silhouetted

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