Thursday, March 2, 2017


You believe
in your own Beat poetry
recounting how
on a cross country ski resort
it evolved as in a dream
just the harmony of the snow
moved verbally
into your words
over the sunlit field
of Vermont
as the counterpoint melody
of Bach's contrapuntal music
wanting to be still alive
in my memory
gave me hopes to chant
with the birds
covering ourselves
with survival skills
under a cloudy dawn sun
though shivering with the crowd
in a blanket of cold temperament,
when suddenly out of chance
of one of a million
as an opposite wind blows
a huge avalanche
trying to make sport of us
but we held onto a tree
as a shield on our feet
with a glance to cope
knowing our stance that day
will not sweep us away.

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