Blue moon,
a seconding visit
siring silky ice.
Adrift between aurora and dusk,
the morning’s gold attempts to boost winter’s frosted eminence
up — out of the way.
But budge it won’t;
to my delight.
Shards of glacial air penetrate this
tempered soul on the blackened lane.
Day-demands suspended,
the car pirouettes on the road’s frozen crown
in a moment so chaste;
the gyration’s embrace met not by a worried ditch,
but moment draped indigo-white in adrenalin’s rush.
Hi Doug,
Powerful imagery in your poem. The moon was so bright last night–shades of daylight in the meadow with beams bouncing of the glazed snowcrust.
Wendell
Thanks Wendell. I am rewarded by your comments as always. Doug
Thanks Don