Shenandoah Weekend


The snow-muffled hum of engines,
the roof-racks loaded high,
the approach to a bare place in a barren season.


The squeak and crunch of dry snowfall,
the firewood buried under the fresh snow,
the three rough rooms of knotty pine.

Cross-country stalkers on narrow rails,
tracks of deer and fox,
bird-hops divided by tailfeather slashes.

The strange near-silences
and the far, far leafless view,
the swell of hollow and hill.

The cowering branches in sleeves of snow,


The Separation by Philip K. Jason, 88 pages, perfectbound, White Noise #8,1995, $12.00; ISBN: 1-885215-17-5.

the brook running hide-and-seek
under the delicate capes of ice.


The coffee and burning wood,
the puddles in entranceways,
the sour steam of wet wool.

The ache of heavily-booted legs,
the deep scale gripping the lungs,
the squint of light-bludgeoned eyes.

The white crests probing the gray-white clouds,
the footprints we try not to plant,
the clean wordlessness of winter woods.


(from The Separation, © 1995 Philip K. Jason, originally published in The Willamette Journal)

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