A three-day warming had made each lamina

on the river’s even field of snow inbend to

the next one down putting a sagged look to it

and on the bank the grown unimportant ash trees

were in lack of a wind that might have had them

seem other than waiting so seemed to wait without

motion for light to expose their drab of trunk

which had attracted a city crew to fell a

marked few they might not even have noticed had

sun not added to an independent warming

and where they had bladed a truck way was some

green in the upturned dirt along with a lot of

raw-pink not olive sawdust that would have meant

scent at another time had the men come for spear

wood in an even more other time not to

mention style of hood they would have taken note of

a red squirrel that dawdled in the sun on

an unmarked tree and had no news for them today

 

To come to day at five in the winter morning

to know that I may have to remain and wake alone

to take to mind the chagrin of living in age

to empty it of all the geste and romaunce therefore

to admit that each year now is a labeled bin

to resign to resignation and the weakly dawn

to think of becoming a sequacious old man

to have them find me chalant and sedent in public

to carry it on as though I had not met her

to love her anyway until I am gone to night