A New Day (II)


I no longer account for the books –
they arrive,
pass through thresholds,
open themselves
in fragments

and settle in the house
without witness,
without record,
each carrying
its quiet return

Yesterday: Ice Report –
a name of winter –
wrapped, delivered,
brought in
by the Wildwife

Today –
a new day

Spring lowers its anchors
into the yielding white,
lingers
at the edge of place

the skis –
thin relics –
waiting
on the veranda

Perhaps this year
the crust will not bear




Poetry by Ingvar Loco Nordin The PoetBay support member heart!
Written on 2026-03-17 at 15:43

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