VERSE
Hawley, Richard A.
WINTER GRACE RICHARD A. HAWLEY In the city the cold comes out of the stone. Some snow falls And falls quickly to ash. In the harbors the dull Atlantic Gives back nothing to a sullen...
...What saves us is the sun...
...In the harbors the dull Atlantic Gives back nothing to a sullen sky...
...Inland, or possibly nowhere, Weathered farms stand strewn in snowfield, Partly voided, like abandoned canvases...
...Wiser than we remember, Its hard light bears no warmth, Yet, as through stained glass, it sets: Peach wash over snowdrift, Smoke blue tint to shadow, Saying simply, "afterward," And "this too is tender," Not promising "again...
...What birds remain, wrens, pigeons, Are colorless...
Vol. 103 • December 1976 • No. 26
