A Late Winter Poem For Baharak

I have been teasing a thought
into being all morning, and
since my morning began at 333 a.m.
it's been a long haul to find
the right words and the right order
to address you. Oh, yes, you have been
a partner in these thoughts since
they first bounced around in my head,
unruly and disordered, hardly the stuff
of poetry. They were as skeletal as
the trees, ghostly branches covered with
snow, the whole scene reduced to two
elemental colors, black and white. Is this
sufficient material for a poem? I endured
an hour of doubt, but in that time I was
rescued as surely as someone lost in a storm.
At first I imagined your face completely
shrouded in darkness, then I gradually saw
its outline appear, and finally your face
was whole, in the pale light of a winter morning.
It was not the sun that blessed us. It was moonlight
and glistening snow that brought us out of darkness
into the welcoming light of their special radiance.
And I send my nighttime thought to you on streams
of bright winter light: There will always be sufficient
light for us to live and prosper in every season.

by Daniel Brick

Comments (9)

A truly lovely poem that echoes more than we hear or feel.
No tree withers with its peel. Nice letter by Sonia.
Well, I'm young no matter what everyone says. My soul feels young, My heart feels young and I just play for fun. Greetings, Zoila T. Flores
'' sometimes after midnight i am tired of it all. '' '' talvolta, passata mezzanotte, provo stanchezza verso tutto questo.''
a day of Living Poetry for me was the sad day of Maya Angelou's passing. but to see her weeping and sobbing on msnbc was the Living part of it for me. Maya meant something personal and of deep meaning to Sonia, and she wept and sobbed until they went to their fracking commercial. it was very human and beautiful.
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