A Turning of Mid-Winter

From sky to snowy hills,
only shades of gray
in the still of evening,

yet there is, briefly,
after a bitter week
of wind and cold,

a sense of lightening,
of a loosening
of the heavy ropes

of winter that bind us
in melancholia.
Oh, I do not feel

like flying,
like jumping upstream,
not yet,

but for a moment
i imagine thin spaces
between the vertebrae

filled with tiny joys,
thin pink clouds
of a winter sunset,

like slices of smoked salmon
pink between fists
of coarse dark bread,

lifting me, inch by inch,
somewhere nearer
my full height.


About Ray Sharp

Father, poet, triathlete, local public health planner
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4 Responses to A Turning of Mid-Winter

  1. Whimsy Mimsy says:

    I love the comparison of discs, sky, and pink salmon. That is akin genius. Well said, bard. 🙂

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