Touched, Lost, Found. Poem by Richard Blanch

Snow was piled up against the door.
Mountain air entered in the bracing window panes.
Frosty words fell on the ear with the exactitude,
With the precision of a snowflake.

He moved freely, spoke coolly, impartial to the marrow.
Until he heard of southern climes, of eyes that looked sideways and up-
And he with interest visited.


No more an iceberg of unassailable shapeliness-
His thought melted, and something else in the general sweating stream
Flooded torrential down the brain, heart, frame, whose movements,
Free before, could only seem unseemly. And one figure,
Dark and warm, took the cloak of closely interwoven thought
Which formerly had clad the world, and wound it- it was scarce enough-
Around their delicate loins.