Signals before Storm

for Alexander Giampietro

Here, at the lake, in summer's sudden convulsion,

the gasp as the season shudders and rolls into autumn,

the last surface-calm before the barometer drops,

I see the fish, like insane torpedoes, scudding over the bottom.

Then the rigid startled reflection, the image in the eyes

as I see my terror for winter, my fingers like animal claws,

the ice in my hair, the tangle of leaves among branches,

this is the scene, the epileptic pause.

Now, as the cliffs of light topple into the gulf and the wind

rises, screaming against the dark pine-needles, finding the bone

that is circled with flesh, with the knowledge of death like a

wound j

at the temple, I am left with the touch of cold stone.

There, in the distance, the snow comes, to cover my face,

as I turn from the light and the light drops away;

the night comes on slowly, sweeping the storm before it,

and crosses the water, the curtain of snow hides the bay.