Deep in the Forest the Unread

       She loves it best when snow disappears
the trees at the windows, the roads, village.

       She sits at the window, near the woodstove,
reading, or pretending to read, the book nothing

       she will remember, as she won’t remember
the particular sound of the wind, the slowness

       of the river under ice, itself turning to ice,
the world in winter almost stopping except for

       the snow, the whirling snow, the drifting snow,
the whiteness where anything might be written,

       anything, love such as she has always dreamed,
the miracle of never growing older, the miracle

       of opening her mouth on song
unheard before, song so sweet all the roots of the world

       awake and, yearning, push themselves toward
green. But for now the trees disappear,

       the village; the chair near the woodstove,
the hand on the book whose words sink together like snow.

Lynne Knight | She Meets Infinity in a Swirl of River Water
Mudlark Contents | Mudlark Chap No. 66 (2018)