Night Below Zero

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by Kenneth Rexroth


3 AM, the night is absolutely still;
Snow squeals beneath my skis, plumes on the turns.
I stop at the canyon’s edge, stand looking out
Over the Great Valley, over the millions —
In bed, drunk, loving, tending mills, furnaces,
Alone, wakeful, as the world rolls in chaos.
The quarter moon rises in the black heavens —
Over the sharp constellations of the cities
The cold lies, crystalline and silent,
Locked between the mountains.

Please note: art by Nancy Boudreaux @ Offerings.  blog.nboudreaux.com

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Hey, thanks for your thoughts and your time:>)

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