Disappearing Act

Winter’s snow blankets the fields of Kimpton by Chris Talbot
via Wikimedia Commons

The dead summer growth pokes through
drumhead smooth snow here and there,
breaking the bleak landscape
with whiskers of gold and gray.
Even three days of cutting wind
can’t shave February’s frozen face.
Birds have deserted the sky,
hiding who knows where,
in some grand disappearing act,
the sleight of hand winter performs
with flourish, palming them
within swaying pines,
while marks like me
sit in double-paned cheap seats
wondering how it’s done.
In the pasture, two old geldings
stand parallel, as if joined in harness,
making those tarnished threads
disappear, when winter couldn’t,
even with three months’ practice.


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