Talkeetna

 

 

One lonely morning

snow

drifted

past

my window

so cold

I could see the frost

without looking

I could smell the snow

without touching

while typing

this poem

in almost darkness,

sitting

at a walnut desk

listening

to the sound

of crows

and Yanni’s “Secret Vows”

and scribbling

on my shadow

that rested

on the keyboard's

companion ---

a yellow pad ---

under the glow

of a banker’s lamp,

remembering

snow

twenty years ago

through a fogged up window

in a cabin

in Talkeetna.

 

One wondrous morning

the fireplace glowed

from the fire

so difficult to start

at first, no spark

the night before

until you

showed me how

fast

newspaper burned

when properly lit.

 

There will never be

another morning

as warm.

 

© 2003, Satya J. Gabriel