slumberful sunday and the new snow

once again the silver and monchromatic
ridgeline crisp beneath dusk
clouds pregnant with a new snowstorm
today, out of synch with the tapestry
walking beside my shadow
hovering above my body
distant like the moonlight dreamer
and the ony metaphore
that comes to mind
wallace's black birds
but this is the hundredth time
they visit me daily
--i like the king of birds
sending out my eathly prayers
heavenward in a cackle of maddness
the season looms gloomily
i wish i could postpone the holidays
until I finally succed at freeing myself
from the slumberful coccoon of sadness and retreat
my walls are covered with childrens pictures
my shelves are filled with books and paper
stars and birds and flying girls
outside are bikes, skies and stubbornly frozen volvos
today i missed breakfast with alaskas poet lauriette
because the car would not start
life is filled with ironies
the silver spikes of ice
hang from the window outside
like an arctic jail,
i in the vaccume like jar
the frozen terrarium
and the world postponed
indefinatley
outside