Daniel-Bourke-Art

Estranged from sleep, I've abandoned the bed Though bringing the blankets, I am cloaked to the head The window ajar I'm sat in the dark with my mind on the stars I welcome the freeze; the whispered nothings of a wintery breeze What miles might these mistrals have seen? What frostbitten tundra - what blindness of white What living things might have these northern winds spied What nocturnal eyes? Have they waxed over oceans or waned over cliffs Have they quietly stolen through powdery drifts? Have they harried the sailors or frightened their wives Have they woken some child in the dead of the night? What eyes have been laid on these wanderi

Passing God's acre; graves and flowers and inscriptions “Loving fathers” and “selfless martyrs”, a mile of scruples Wrinkled as sand, she's making the gestures we learned as children Shapes with her hand, traced through the air Sharing a glance, she eyes dumbly! Does she envy my youth? I envy it too She leaves in a hurry, as if to attend forgotten things As if time had just now become short Idling silvery skies, this island becomes me! My death might be closer than thirty

Stopping the driver at lights I'm fishing around in my pocket for fives With only the winter in mind Standing up into the blustery night, it's blackness and cold - unoccupied roads I've exited miles before home The clouds have a glow that an Inuk would know I'm bracing for snow Adjusting my wools till they're snug at my throat I'll happily trek for an hour or so And purposely slow, no matter how far To spend such a night with the wind and the stars