Wednesday, April 4, 2012

Passing Over \ April, At The Edge Of The Labrador Current

Alan:  This one’s for my father, who died April 5, 2004.

Passing Over
As you lay dying, I was passing over
from the coast to Bangor and the interstate.
Fresh snow sugared the wooded hills
and a west wind gusted.
It had taken an hour, that morning,
to clear home, the car caught slantwise
across the spring-soft lane, the town
unwilling to tear its skin by plowing.
But now the road lay clean
and I was passing over, as you were,
and heading south, a weak sun
hurrying itself between dark squalls.
Nancy:  April, neither here nor there, no longer winter and not quite spring.
April, At The Edge Of The Labrador Current
2 days of T shirts
and then a night comes down
so black cold
in the sky
an insubstantial
thin fall of light
washes the north
just below
the aurora
tide grumbles on stone
your skin goes taut
while you watch

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