A LESSON ON SEPARATION
Backlit by the sun, a hoarfrosted forest
glitters with ice caught underneath.
But the glow ends where stubbs tear
through the sheets like toes sticking
out of pellmell blankets. Pity.
The sylvan frost could have been magical
like intertwined limbs insinuating joie du nuit
beneath those sleep-stained sheets.
But nothing remains crystal or pure as sunlight
cutting through gnarled and naked branches.
There will be long shadows on the pygmy tundra
while the winter solstice overstays its welcome.
There will be no glitter on the hoarfrosted forest
when icy undertow surfaces to drown the valley.
I would have left quietly like the absconding snow.
—Albert B. Casuga
Backlit by the sun, a hoarfrosted forest with ice still glittering underneath. I gape and run for my camera, a tourist on my own porch.---Dave Bonta, The Morning Porch, 02-23-11 (http://www.morningporch.com/)