WHAT BEGAN WITH A SNOWY MOUNTAIN

Poems of pure exhaust
wading with arthritic lines
dulled by pills and smoke and wines
on cold nights when the rain has past
in mercy as it separates
our souls from the evil souls we know.

What's born in Winter, bears the cost
of Springs bright murder at the gates
of History's brave and tragic loss
or otherwise lies low and pines
for that same history as it casts
its own blood dye
on tired and endless fields of snow turned to water and to rain
in muddy rivulets which surpass
the floods of Noah
in their deep and tired pain...

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