In the Middle of Hosanna

Snow’s piled against the generator,

a smooth white slope of talussouth-side-snow-generator
at the foot of a simple solid thought
in the colder regions of a mind
while the tangle of bare forsythia
through the window to its right
under draped wires from a pole
is the roadmap of its unchecked ruminations
which turn again and again back
upon themselves in crazy chiaroscuro,
a disposition of light characteristic
of a skull full of whims, while
further right still the barrel arc of a stone wall
familiar now as the array of spots on the back of a hand
is as firm and solid as convictions
rooted under crystals of a cool savannah
between here and the neighbor’s shed
in the middle of mid-winter Hosanna!

Jim Culleny