Some

Some say the climate does not change
That winters come and winters go
That in some winters there is snow
But when there isn't, it's not strange,
It's all within the normal range,
And when the sudden tempests blow
It really doesn't go to show
Anything. They self-derange
Pretending that the rising tides
The sudden snow where none once fell
The burnt-out grasslands of the plains
Are nothing; that the ice sheet slides
Melting to the sea, because, um, well,
No reason. No logic pertains.

Navel

I can but be the person that I am
And being so, I must express my soul
Whether in trochee, dactyl, or iamb
In poetry, in order to feel whole.
And as I do, such wonders congregate
In patient thought about my situation
That I am awed by my own present state
And as such joyed beyond all enervation.
But most of all, beyond my ego, I
Find myself buoyed by my thoughts of you
And float, or in my better moments, fly
Above concern or worry. When I do
My poems turn to you as well, and show
The way you make my inner lover glow.

By Night

Shepherds watching their December flocks
May see them grow, then suddenly recede
Into the distance, while their absence mocks
The present sheep, who come each day to feed.
Their careful nuture and their watchful care
Are not enough to make the rams all stay
For they are used to forage everywhere
And do not linger long upon their way.
But once or twice a year do they return
Visiting the pasture, but not staying;
And in sad time the shepherds come to learn
They cannot properly be chid for straying
That wander only; but they can be said
To be among the flock who're sometimes fed.

Go

Sitting in the airport on my way
To fly and visit my new family
I find myself unsure of what to say
For fear of some latent disloyalty;
I trust it is not wrong to claim my joy
In being one of them, as long as I
Do not proclaim myself only their boy
And dispossess myself. For I love my
Own and first family as much as ever
And having gained another does not change
My happiness at what I had, and never
Will. Nor will it even rearrange
Those feelings. But it adds, and I am so
Delighted to be going where I'll go.

Walk

I love the city when I walk with you
The sky lights up despite the constant clouds
The streets once muddy now seem washed with dew
And I can see above the pushing crowds.
The skyline is a jagged lightning bolt
Flashing across the view with breathless grace
The slushy surfaces all seem to molt,
Leaving the city's gorgeous snowy face
Exposed to us, so we can, at her best,
Admire all that she can bring to bear;
The air itself seems full of summer zest
Despite the icy twinkle. Everywhere
Is wonderful when we walk out together
Even the winter's often foul weather.

Wint

There's nothing new to say about the snow
It comes each winter and it looks the same
Possesses that same half-angelic glow
Then dirties and goes grey with oily shame.
The frozen lake and river ripple by
The water underneath, as ever, seen
Only through the blue, for it is shy
And shows but indirectly in the sheen
The thin ice has. All this is always thus.
Winter has come, and winter is but this
A settled change of momentary fuss
A constant presence that you cannot miss
Until the spring, delayed, melts snow away
And breaks the old cocoon of white and grey.

Snowfall

Consider all the snow around
Hard, compacted into sheets
Freezing fast the stony ground
And slippering the empty streets
See how it mocks the glowing sun
Reflecting it unmeltingly
Hunkering down as if to shun
The heat it ought to bring. Then see
How in the turn of time the air
Will recontain its wonted heat
And force this fearsome snow to bare
The ground and fly in full retreat
So much can time, in fullness, do
But not reduce my love for you.