Warmth Is A Burden

I hear the classic verse of your rebuke.
The music of a constant, static bird
Crackles the gray indifference of the sky.
A winter bleach of sunlight stings the eyes.

You bring me coffee in a heavy cup.
Warmth is a burden that no mind can bear.
The pattern of your gesture on the grass
Gives anger a dimension out of time.

My eyes record the image of that sound.
Morning is hammered into words of gold.
The moments slip like lost time down my cheeks.
You tilt my face to catch the amber drops.

Such overwhelming brightness lifts my lids.
No shadow lives against such vividness.
You win the landscape with your poetry.
I trust you to tell no one of its warmth.

Previously published: Ellipsis Magazine, Westminster College, Utah

by Sandra Fowler

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