Pretend It’s January

Yeats and Me

January 28

The blunt instruments
of the day: sun | shadow,
blue | cloud,
lawn | tree,
all barren,
buffeted by arctic blast.

Indoors, heat hums on
and off, stillness.
I believe I hear
electrons
circling protons
in the wood floor,
the blanket
wrapped around me,
this overstuffed chair.

I mouth words
to silent music:
the downdraft
from descending swans,
the turn of a body
in dance,
the drum of hoofbeats
beneath Ben Bulben,
wishing Yeats well
as he sleeps
and myself
a quiet
happy birthday.

Advertisements

4 thoughts on “Pretend It’s January

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out / Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out / Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out / Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out / Change )

Connecting to %s