Solitaire

This early blizzard we all expected —
down on dizzy shops and the tourist lake.
The mountains are fading — Lang dales, Crinkle Crags,
tamed by a name and spot-height on the map.
Climbers come here to buy special gear.

In this empty house, solitaire on the piano.
(Somewhat shamed by a sly idea:
power of being, if someone else should overhear.)

To look up now from this granite village:
up there, rocky knolls, granite scars, quartz.
Down here on the valley floor a few cows still.
Familiar hills too easily estranged.

Now blown snow passing by, settles on
our boundary, dark green yews.
(A Christmas card once you drop your guard.)
My window out stares everything.

A ragged crow flopping down the street for road-kill.
Behind this modern house, in the deep dark ghyll,
our waterfall's in spate, snow falling on waters falling...

Gerald Solomon

12/12/2011