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| Drawing by Peter Rippon |
The quality of suffering
Is not strained in the least
But falls in a pristine
Blanket of snow along
The banks of Weesuck Creek
I hear it too in the sound
Of the turbid waters
Churning deep underneath
The Bay Avenue dock
Where the ice also clings
To the pilings' tops
Growing older
It gets harder
To hold reality’s strands
Separate and apart
As the spectrum of light
Keeps shifting about
But tonight I see it clearly
In the strange luminosity
Of this snowy evening
In the jaundiced glare
Of the streetlight
As it spreads across
Notebook’s page
And plashes onto
The snow banks
Just below
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