First Winter

Outside the windows given to the house--
It was snowing, again I saw, it is snowing
Like an eternal scene. I turned around with
A silence captured, seeing her walking toward
Me, freely, from the kitchen. She was far
Away, far away I gestured like to warn her--
This is life, a moment in the awareness.
When the winter is here we suffer only the
Unveiling.

Look, I said, there are many books,
But no book describes this truth. It's the
Aberrant winds, carrying a few snowflakes, the
Idle street that is part of no gameplan, in
The town of my birth where I brought you.
And the winter that is ancient history,
Causing us to abandon all mirthful narrative,
Go back to emotion, and wait for heaven now.

We don't know what the world should look like
Nor how much of the scenery is finally rooted
Or carried away on a flatbed truck in dreams.

I was standing at the front bank of windows
Abstractly looking at the sidewalk, like
For information. Now, I thought, if I don't
Move, I can't remember anything. It's some
Intractable strangeness, gripping the mind,
And under weather of this circumstance, what
I speak is a liability . . . a beginning text.

The winter was a grand dependence, coming out
Of the past it seemed. And I was making many
A theoretical judgement, sure. Life was
Shifting into the realm of total mystery--

She was silent, shopping in a Christmas rush,
Behind the windshield wipers, crying, in
The rain's onslaught during a dull December.
She was pulling the children in a red wagon--
Through the decoration of the maple leaves,
The children were riding, children forever.

Then the house we were in contained all the
Others, I roamed about it for days at a time
Discovering old boxes, walls needing paintings--
Focusing suddenly, like to catch eternity.
I was always pausing at the front windows,
Waiting for a moment to provide searchlights,
Put the past and future in a comic equation.
This is it, I wanted to say, everything is
Stalled just fine. I think most clearly when
I have nothing in mind!

Look now, the veil
Is torn away, and the winter stands there
Like the setting the street deserved. Now,
Colossal fear must grip the populace, they
Must seek safety from this impossible,
Forceful echo. Look! It's the non-event of
The century. Yes, the brotherly wind. I mean
The suicidal, unchained god of a wind, the
Wind itself is retaliating for what's undone.

I saw salvation, I wanted to tell her then.
The sky had that grey-plated color that is
The film of blankness on the mirror's other
Side. We hopelessly alive, you better stay
With me--I could convey that with my eyes.
And as she brought the coffee cups to the
Table at that streetside corner, in the
Day I was describing as outside of time,
I saw the futility of my super-alertness,
The afternoon I saw as a great exhibit,
Creation from nothing. And in the snowfall
Attendant our lives were reviewed . . .

I'm a late-comer to truth, I said, deprived
Of truth! All my memories are colliding in
A helpless lyric poem. I can't let it go.
Let what go, she said. This, I said, this is
The mood tripping the angel, singing in
Despair. This is the sense of eternity--
The slightest snowfall out of nowhere on
The landed scene outside the window, here.

There are many books, but books all stranded
In devotion of a world assumed to last. No one has talked like life were all in jeapordy.
I saw we could erase it with our eyes, I
Saw a makeshift order made of options kind
Of dependent, on whatever . . . options! Is
That very clear? Various stagehands moving
The scenery hopefully, ignoring the weather.

Now the world inside is a closed circle, you
Hardly notice you are a little older, hope
To find wisdom in a book like delivered
To you at the last minute. I was totally in
Love with her, I took the first girl I met
Right into the black sunset by the harbor
Realized in a charcoal drawing, showed her
The black smoke ships, the beach with
Footprints walking backwards in time,
Gallantly took the stairs to the apartment,
Said here in the kitchen stove, the empty
Bookshelves, the closet for your dresses.
If we make a life, it will seem quite familiar!
It's pouring into our minds, like from heaven.

Heaven is a flimsy concept that I've achieved,
Reality was what I was hardly able to see.
When, after many winters, the first winter arrived.