Friday, February 25, 2005

Snowbanks North of the House

Those great sweeps of snow that stop suddenly six feet
    from the house...
Thoughts that go so far.
The boy gets out of high school and reads no more books;
the son stops calling home.
The mother puts down her rolling pin and makes no more
And the wife looks at her husband one night at a party
    and loves him no more.
The energy leaves the wine, and the minister falls leaving
    the church.
It will not come closer--
the one inside moves back, and the hands touch nothing,
    and are safe.

And the father grieves for his son, and will not leave the
    room where the coffin stands;
he turns away from his wife, and she sleeps alone.

And the sea lifts and falls all night; the moon goes on
    through the unattached heavens alone.
And the toe of the shoe pivots
in the dust...
The man in the black coat turns, and goes back down the
No one knows why he came, or why he turned away, and
    did not climb the hill.

--Robert Bly
4:25 PM