BACK TO THE BEGINNING

Once again I've come back to the hills
of a half forgotten country, back to the beginning

of stones and hope, and back to where 
I once stood transfixed before the figure of a woman

even as the particles of her breath
hovered and then vanished into the cold, winter air.

OF WINTER & WARS

(for Robert Bly)

This is a country of winter

Of old men and wars

And ghosts defaced in a white mist
Of trees with long black limbs
And snow banks
Piled up high against the back of the house

Here the sky is a kind of blanket
Or shroud
For the dead
And daylight is like a secret
Hidden
In a book that no one has yet to open