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Vashon House

vashon winterland

I

take the tongue 
out of the twist
to taste the all
in all that is –
wipe the windows
from the breath
to dance the edges
of each mist –

all the stars
our eyes have lost 
will grow back
into retinas
as we construct
and reconstruct
the entities 
that we call us –

we split infinity
to be
the quintessential
prophecy
magnifying
who we are 
into what never
was before.

 

II

ice re-sculpts
the whitened pond –
grass hangs frost
upon the ground –

a brittle sun  –
too cold for snow
winters me 
into the cold –

but hidden under
coat and hood –
beneath scarves
and mittened hands –

a silent surge
from breath to blood
transports me 
summer 
into warm.

 

III

above the ice and swim of fish –
suspended cold – a water drop
evolving out of what is not 
from silvered pond to frozen rock –

within the waking of our sleep 
where all is neither day nor night
we drop our yester-selves to catch 
the moment when the water stopped

suspended between here and there
world edges shift and spill
transforming us into the more
that we could never touch before.

 

IV

i am antediluvian
mushrooming a frozen sun
to catch this morning in a fog
of underwater shivering –
beyond the planet of my eye
golden fish swim into ice
and pale grasses cloud to snow
with frosted buddha statued still –

collapsing outwards through the day 
i fracture into images
that dance across the splintered pond
in crystalline realities –
between the snowflake and the breath
between the statue and the fence
i fragment to a hundred selves
born out of the god i am –

in each moment of my stare 
wonderment grows multiple
as if i am a mirror ball
ballooning to encompass all –
around – within – above – below –
arctic winds refract the brain
into the opposites of same –
and every-where i am is now
with hoary buddha watching all.

 

V

long and wide and silver-pale
low mists weave a frozen shore
as if some giant fantasy
is luring me into its world –

across the grey-white frosted dream
i walk on water – staring down
into the depths of icy realms
where goldfish dart to secrecy –

i am the ancient pacing skies
with shadow boots –
till suddenly –
i CRACK their wintered firmament
and vanish from their ruptured sky.

 

 

 

 

©pamela swanson 2016

email: pam@poetpam.com