Crest (New Year’s Day, 2011)
- for Ann When time is a wolf, the year a pack of yellow teeth; when one by one we lay us down, or stop to kiss goodbyes when one of us can run no more, then back into the trees; when the howls pause for a moment to finish those we've left behind, or pick off the slowest, the weakest... When time is a wolf we bleed in the snow, we bleed like a trail of crumbs beneath snow-black skies. We inhale air dead as skeleton grass, we etch the stone-dead air with pictures of our ghosts and our stillborn drown down the wind. But this new year is a horse coursing off a mountain white with headwaters and green with dreams of the sea. When headwaters gallop to the sea we fall down the frozen banks beneath the snow-blue skies. Bleeding like an altar we falter into baptismal waters, our bodies more scab than skin. The track climbs into forests white with bird song, gold with sun-high skies. We kneel in the icing river, wash until the water runs clean.
Thanks to Jim Booth for all the helpful feedback on this draft.