A February Night

Fresh snow has smoothed out the
night landscape of forest and marsh.

Without moonlight, black and white shapes
become collages of ghosts and half-truths;
all stoic beneath a cloudy elixir of sky
mixed from blueberries and liquid copper.

I stop suddenly in breathless awe
before a cold pond punctuated with
lingering remnants of winter ice.

A building’s lights shimmer and pulse
on the crisp, watery surface just like fairy gowns,
made from bronze and lemon,
fluttering in the wind.

And all along their glowing hemlines
drift the dark and dreaming silhouettes
of Mallard ducks in restless slumber.


Just a peasant