r.kv.r.y. quarterly literary journal winter 2008 poetry
Closing the Cabin One Year Later
by Bart Galle
It had snowed the night before.
The boards of the dock were white,
the morning water grey and starting to move
I wanted to stay inside, under the covers,
but we got up and went for a hike
on a new trail to a new lake.
We walked past marsh grass
brittle as spun glass
and crossed small brooks,
also looking for the lake.
Too much to do, we turned back.
That afternoon we closed the cabin,
drove toward home.
Clusters of snow buntings
rose unexpectedly along the road,
flashing white wings
in a purposeful way.
They flew before the car
like porpoises leading a ship.
Go here! Look here!
Closing the Cabin One Year Later
by Bart Galle
It had snowed the night before.
The boards of the dock were white,
the morning water grey and starting to move
I wanted to stay inside, under the covers,
but we got up and went for a hike
on a new trail to a new lake.
We walked past marsh grass
brittle as spun glass
and crossed small brooks,
also looking for the lake.
Too much to do, we turned back.
That afternoon we closed the cabin,
drove toward home.
Clusters of snow buntings
rose unexpectedly along the road,
flashing white wings
in a purposeful way.
They flew before the car
like porpoises leading a ship.
Go here! Look here!
Painting -- Grasses -- by the Poet
