Of Far White Drifts

Photograph by Richard Osbourne


of far white drifts


& warm the distance
of what rises
white

she digs in
black
dirt

this place
matters
a boy

running
with his dog
thru fresh snow

where are the roots
tubers growing
thick &

someone said she had
good hands for
gardens

she wept that night
wanting hands
that felt

green rivers
& the skin of
polished ivory

sometimes she wraps
red roses with long strands
of coarse corn or slender barley straw

nails the bouquets to the wall
& the boy still runs—the garden ready—
her hands best smoothing the edges
of far white drifts;

ghost walls & running running


Richard Lance Williams

Posted over on More Poetry