Coffee’s made, the tea-water’s on
and here’s a glazed pane of iridescent frost
stroked by a ghost-etcher’s point
struck through with silver
and laced with light:
its gravure of fern fronds
glistens on a clear silicon plate
and there’s a postage stamp of blue
piercing an otherwise stratocumulus dome
marking a bit of sky beyond the frost-etcher’s art

window in a window
frame within a frame
thought without a name

the furnace grunts
the blower hums before the burner sparks
and warm air gushes from a grate
as if a house might warm its cupped hands
to mitigate the lethal silence of a still cold place
as we will sometimes hunch and blow to mitigate
a frigid shadow stillness: a blast of breath
from our own deep furnace in winter
while we wait

by Jim Culleny, 12/18/09


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