Paul Violi
Toward a February Songbook
A whirl of icy snow
Over fallen leaves could be a scrape
Or a caress, whisper or hiss.
A burning hiss or a buzz.
Dense oak, a few pine, a few rampike.
A nearly heart-shaped stone.
The one great beech, an eons-old nudge
From its sharkskin bark.
Low walls, neatly stacked then thrown
Into a sloppy heap the higher uphill they go.
Deadfall strewn willy-nilly
Like an abandoned game of pick-up sticks.
The thickly wooded land,
The very thought of the brutal work
It once took to clear it—soon enough
The entire hillside will be buried
In greenery, the low stream will leap
Back into itself and guzzle away, but now,
Ah, now February is springtime for gray
And I'm at my lighthearted best.
Heart as light as a hornet's nest.
Paul Violi, Selected Poems 1970-2007, Rebel Arts, 2014.