“Sierra Winter” (In May–Only in Reno)


It’s May 10th. Spent hours in the garden this weekend and now it’s snowing. So maybe it’s a good time to post this poem. Perhaps I could change the name to “Spring in Reno.”

Sierra Winter

An artist plunges a flat
brush in water,
adds a dab of
titanium white,
slathers broad strokes of
wash across winter.

Fields of pouty
Douglas firs
draped in ermine
act bored,
run fingers through
vanilla icing that drips from
chocolate outcrops of granite.

Branches, weary
under a fresh load of snow,
point black fingers upward,
waggle crone-like digits,
shake off age.
Dowager trees,
stooped and brittle,
bend to kiss earth.

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