Young Hearts upon a Massachusetts Plane
More beautiful than ghost-like, they are real,
The skaters on the winter pond at night.
They swerve around and skim about on steel,
On circle (pond), make ovals as in flight,
December birds whose wings are skates along
The deepened ice, much deeper than the snow
Which fell in dark. These birds do not have song
Except the quietest of notes, long, slow,
And nearly silent in their sweep above
The frozen slickness. A composer could
Wish melodies from them could be like love
As much as these swift phrases. Hollywood
Cannot compete. Its shallowness is dry,
Baked summer pond. These sounds are from on high.
~ Phillip Whidden
by phillipw | Mar 30, 2021 | AT, IC, LO, NE |