I
Another night wind, wet wind bears
the breaths of owl and cougar, flings
pine limbs down, these crash
to wet ground, wet hunters
stalk prey,
wet prey,
can't wait,
dark wet feet. Water howls down
spouts; clay bowls, ivy bowls
smash flat onto bricks. Out there,
dark there, one shriek— something
small. I wrap myself in woolen shawl.
II
A midday sun:all color gone
from cliffs, from sky, from shadows, empty
doorways— the village sleeps. Waves
of far-off hills break blue on gray
horizons. Tawny stone lifts sheer
above this valley floor, its glassy
facets flashing yellow, white.
A raven circles low above
the melting road. I wish
I had another sweater to take off.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
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It's a beautiful poem! You have expressed you feeling of winter in different situations brilliantly...Loved reading it...10