A January Hour along the Merrimack
by Paulette Demers Turco
      in honor of Wallace Stevens

To ignore the groan of gusts
across the winding river, inter-
spersed with ice floes’ clashing crusts,

one must have a mind of winter.
To ease the piercing cries of gulls
soaring high above, that splinter

in the frigid air, though lulls
return as each dives down for prey,
wings spread as if two ready sculls

to lift each bird’s live catch, one may–
must have a mind of winter’s play.



 

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