Reflection
(with gratitude to John O’Donohue)
Out my winter window
only an atrophied view
a Monet cataract blur
painted with shadows instead of light.
Brown indifference, bare sticks
where the lilac once bloomed
resentful poverty in the absence
of red-cheeked flickers at the feeder.
A numbed stare, limbo of cynicism
I saw nothing but a reflected surface ‒
not of iced puddles or frozen rivers
with their turbulent mysteries beneath
but the glowing façade of Smart phones and television
screens
a restless search through newsfeeds
and list serves where even my Facebook photo
of orcas breaching in the Pacific could not save me.
Until that one day when
the heron of haunted desires
floated by on the gray horizon
stirring the air into a fecund adventure
and hostas sprouted green truth
up through the cold ground
and I was no longer
marooned
on the shiny surfaces
of the banal.
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