Cold Was the Ground

           dark was the night

Blind Willie Johnson huffs in my ears

weeping into God. How easy to loop

the past into a soundtrack, light digestion

& here's Willie, scratching life into the air

carving out sight & sense in the squall

So many spills, paths of only one take

So simple, the hatching of intrigue &

sloppy way we invent moments to be sad

I walk at the trees as if I have knowledge

secrets of their past, I don't, but confidence

is a clever accessory. This winter walk

these minuets stall the loud, awaken the soft

my ears, warm with the blues

my eyes with the slow mountain

& the snow, suspended in a mid-fall spill

erasing out everything that came before