Closed & Open Spaces

Early sunlight fires the snow

until the world is pure glare—

as if there’s nothing left of landscape

but the future, the whole yard

an endless blank page

I’m not sure I’ll be able to fill.

The dog hovers by the door,

half delirious with impatience,

but I ignore him and turn instead

to the cobalt plates in the dishwasher,

the waxy green ivy

tumbling over the counter.

Through the archway the oak table

leans, as always, to one side

and the raw silk curtains

reflect a glassy shade of sea.

I pour coffee into a mug and add creamer

until it’s richly brown.

On days like this, only the intimacy

of things can rescue me.

Everything immense

can wait a little longer.