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Mark Belair

The Metronome

Onto the polished wooden pyramid
of a piano-top metronome 

fits a slat that hooks 
at its peak

to protect its pendulum 
when stilled.

Which turns the metronome 
into a mini Egyptian crypt 

until, unlocked 
and resurrected to resume 

its count, it ticks 
from where it stopped:

in time we imagined
past.
 

Midwinter

Even tree trunks hold  

this dense a fall of snow.

 

All stands simplified.

All stands at peace.

 

All stands in one reality.

Snow falling that blindingly.

 

*

 

A stone fence

all but buried in snow.

 

An oak tree

snapped in half.

 

Boot prints—

sunk into a long stretch of snow—

 

vanishing 

into the dark woods ahead.

 

*

 

Swirling snow and lace curtains.

White on white.

 

The glass between them cold as death.

Thin as life.

Sean Ewing Crimson_Elegance.jpg

THE COURTSHIP OF WINDS

© 2015 by William Ray

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