January 1, 2009
Here is a poem for the new year:
——–
New Year, Fairbanks
From here the air,
stiff with cold and dark—
the stain of absence,
the weight that’s left behind
when heat seeps out of the day–
seems firm enough to walk on,
as if we could climb up it
star by star
see glimmering, distant,
the warmer buzz of cities.
From this empty place,
we jet out over the teeth
of the Alaska Range, scoot down
along the flecked coast
of the Inside Passage-
white islands, dark sea,
the pale waves echoing out–
south to an imaginary land.
You tell me
the density of cities
uplifts you. Your eyes scale
the sides of buildings,
your ears strain
for the chatter
of people passing there.
They walk without a cushion
between skin and air–
the flimsy fabrics cling to them
or float behind them
as they move.
What can we say to them,
I wonder.
What substitute for air
smooth as silver,
the scrub of snow,
the solace of long night.
Winter stillness is enough, I say.
You say the jitter of traffic,
the metallic smoke of air,
the sudden uprush
of many breaths together,
the privacy of the crowded street,
completes you.
In a dark room,
we toast the New Year.
Outside, a curve of green light
spreads across the sky.
The house walls pop with cold.
Your thoughts hurtle away.
On the screen,
a ball slides down a pole.
The air glitters with colored paper;
someone hollers;
someone pulls him back.
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