Sunday, January 30, 2011

A winter poem by Bill Holm


Blizzard


After midnight the blizzard howls itself out,

the wind sleeps, a tired lover.
Before bed, I think of you

and play the Meistersinger quintet

over and over, singing
along on all the parts,
dancing though the house
like a polar bear who thinks
it has joined the ballet.
You are in my arms, dancing too;
whirling from room to room;
frost crusted on the window
begins to glow like lit up faces.
My five fingers, now on fire
like these five voices singing,
imagine touching the skin
over your shoulders

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