portrait

there's something about the apples in the snow.

there they were,
one by one, bright
red, last night's ice
and snow gathered around them,
frozen over
them, holding them in
time.
the thin branches of the winding tree
above them wept frozen
tears that didn't, wouldn't, quite
fall.
in all of the gray
and white and black and brown,
these dots of life breathed,
as impertinent as though
they'd just fallen
from the tree,
sit unconquered and
incorruptible
amid the ice.
it was, after all, yesterday that they'd fallen -
had you forgotten?
did you forget that yesterday, just yesterday was spring?
no, the ice -
distracts you, you know, tries to
make you - forget -

and something about that
springtime day,
the lake was still
frozen from the days before
zero degrees, with a high of eighteen,
and then - sixty.
and the half-melted
lake seeped in the sunlight
students walking by so
carelessly, arms gleaming in easy
t-shirts
the light, reflected
off the ice, reminded me that
it's winter and the sun
won't last much longer
but this day of grace, this day of grace.

this moment is mine
soul
ice and light and sun
and air
a frozen lake in spring, and a rose
apple frozen in ice,
this is my life
and it is beautiful