Sunday, January 10, 2010

January 10, 2010

Several years ago I went to Colorado with friends. While lounging in the cabin, I wrote a short poem that has now been lost or published in an unread journal. In the poem, I thoughtfully remarked that i had never seen an apple in the snow.

Along my walk today
Just off the concrete path,
I spied an apple in the snow.

It was not shiny or red.
In fact, it was bruised
and half-eaten.

Perched just feet away
were hungry crows whose
black eyes were counting

the ghosts that surely
swarmed around me.
But I, engaged

by the fallen fruit,
looked away from the birds,
curtailed my conversation with

Stevens and thought
about how what has not been
is not at all similar
to what never will be.

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