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| Image source: KXL |
The poet weighed the ends of flame and freeze
as if the fulcrum balanced between love and hate.
We are coming to know enough of both
to see the crux is fog of mind and sloth.
The west burns, the south freezes,
the ice is a river we cannot push.
Fire takes the wildwood
we saw first in black and white
now mixed sooty ash and snow.
The glaciers melt like films
children will never see,
the peaches they will not eat.
Tricia Knoll is a Portland poet, snowbound alone in her house for seven days. Her chapbook Urban Wild is now available from Finishing Line Press.
