winter afternoon by the lake

.

.

Black trunks, black branches, and white snow.

No one nearby, five o'clock, below zero,

Late January. No birds. No wind.

You look, and your life seems stopped.  Perhaps

.

You died suddenly earlier today.  But the thin

Moon says no.  The trees say, "It's been this way

Before, often.  It's cold, but it's quiet."  We've experienced

This before, among the messy Saxons putting back

.

The hide flap.  A voice says: "It's old.  You'll never

See this again, the way it is now, because

Just today you sensed that someone gave you

Life and said, 'Stay as long as you like.'"

.

The snow and the black trees, pause, to see if we're

Ready to re-enter that stillness.  "Not yet."

.

~ Robert Bly

For Owen

from Morning Poems

.