Entering Winter with a Line from Gwendolyn Brooks
by D. R. James

Horizon's burst-smear of pink nonchalance
forgets: We are things of dry hours and the
involuntary plan. In winter's vise
I'll wrestle—flail!—stampedes of elegies,
pendulums of memory, sidestepping
swathes of snow-fall brindled with late oak leaves'
yieldings: autumn's ceding. But from this blunt
and silhouetted terrain, ranging out
tactically, cautious in my happenstance,
I will still delight—plod, but still ignite.

First published in Amethyst Review 

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