The Fur Trader and the Poet
Duck slide: the ice where, captured underneath,
browned leaves assume suspension in the glass
Of morning’s grip;
There bubbles form, to dapple all the pond,
The park, a quiet world of sleeping trees
Olive branches intertwined, the path
A canopy for lovers’ quiet steps,
To gardens shaped all quiet, out of time,
And sleeping houses, elegant and still.
We hold our tongues, the raven bobs its mirth
To see our winter love in frosted breath
Made visible, as if we would inscribe
Emotion in the air, around the Olive Park
This is one of three poems for an icy winter's afternoon. They're all taken from Julian's forthcoming book Draping the Sky for a Snowfall. See the other two poems.