Between the gray night of significant snow
and the half-light of eventual dawn
when my dog and I venture forth
from the warmth of bed and home

We step into a world transformed
sculpted by wind in white reborn

The city street of Sturgeon Bay
I call my own
as yet untouched by the blade of a plow
is marked by two tire tracks
that scrawl a cursive note
between remembered margins
of curb and lawn

This morning after a winter storm
is an empty page
upon which we begin
the progress of our day

In the syntax of our steps
two living things conjoined
by a six foot length of leather
write a tale
through drift and sudden swale
in a tableau as still as held breath

Waiting


From You Can Get Here from There (2019).
Used with permission.