etchings

the spears of light between ice-
sheared bark cast long bars
of brilliant yellow upon the
snow-hugged earth.

the roots shiver
beneath
the spindle of branches
shudders with scarce leaves
left from autumn

spread of sky against
the pale blue slate of late-morning
tufts of tears unshed

blades of marsh grass
puncture the ice — needles
reaching and bowing to
the wind’s gentle kiss

and the crows settled on
power lines swivel
their heads as one
eyeing the open.

set on the mooring

          easel
                                set sure
 pastels                                   a crane
                and the ocean

     resemblance
                                    motion from
               the tugboat
                   passing.

        a dry spot
                                   darkening w/
   frustration — aggravated rubbing

       again           breathe

   hopeless               flint gone

             cheeks redden
                                in the wind.

grouse

tufts of fog-laden marsh grass
the ebb tide rushes under
sway in the breeze.

birds alight on the dead trees
poking up through the bog
disingenuous and intrigued.

in mouse holes
and large webs,
bunched together brown
remnants of the fall
in the cool spring air.

ripples dilate
on the marsh stream.
crest of the sand banks
shorn flat with the tide —
a miniscule detail out the corner
of the eye disappears into
a thicket — berries hung low
by raindrops.

Colin MacNeil Wilcox