An der Ecke

Looking in the corners for what wasn’t there I found a treasure.

 

A long, long time ago I walked from a small hiker’s cabin past Blüemlisalp and the Morgenhorn to Oeschinensee. I fell in love with Oeschinensee and visited it a number of times after that. On one particular day when the snow clouds lay low and pregnant I walked up the path, doing the cold weather version of mad dogs and Englishmen. As the snow fell heavy on me and built a nest in my eyebrows I experienced a silence that, if it is not of God Himself, well it, it is the next best thing…….

 

as the twist in the mist

corners the edge of a Venturi time

calling a place

 

no name

 

my water boatman steps

on the very meniscus of time

with

 

the fickle

dragonfly of hope

 

to pinch the gathering waist

of the damsel mam’selle fly

 

and the trickle of time

runs diamonds through

the finger tip rocks

of ages gone

 

and the stardust comet writes

tender letters

on the canvas of

impression

 

and the rainbow surfer

rides the glisten

of a tear

 

wrought of the anvil

of memory’s

golden coin

 

to tinkle waterfall

ringlets

on her collar

  

and the will written

in the dying of a son

turns its pages

once again

 

as behoves

the hooves on the new born

deer

 

that skate so fragile

on the thin ice

of life

 

and in the falling

the blood red cells

do mark the snow

 

to cut the quaver

crisp and pristine

 

with the stern stars that do

look disapproving from

above

 

and the bubble-gum

whys

of the Montagues and the Capulets

 

are now still

 

and the

 

there, there, there

does soothe the tooth

from the gum

 

to post a toast

in an envelope of cheer

with a  red waxen seal

 

that claps the hands of it

for a silver-fish

surprise

 

that might bring a tingle to eyes

lest a tear

be born

 

the fawn of another dawn

makes strong its scent

lest be hurt again

 

as the silent snowflake counter

caresses each number

to mark

 

and the silence cries

…….hark

 

to hear the beating of

a pounding heart

 

that drums the mountain blood

now fierce in the ears

 

now calm

 

as the clamorous folly of hope

falls silent

lest offend the snow

 

and raises a finger

to his lips

lest a secret spend

 

so the snowball dream

pauses

 

and the silken scarf

pulls tight ‘gainst the wind

  

and the boatyard ribs

whistle a merry tune

 

that the beachside groynes

do beg with the sand

 

should run away

 

 from Babushka’s world

and seep deep

into Steppes

 

and hear

feint

faint

 nothing

 

dance its crystal pendant

in the pageant

of the dream

 

and now sotto voce

to wonder

 

at why he still cares

 

and would wander on the wings

of a mellow cello

string

 

to curl the tails

of a question

stark in the air

 

of a little longer

 

‘fore to turn

and be done

 

and

 

to weight the circle

round

 

‘til Oeschinensee

leaves again

a calling card

 

that makes the key

to take

 

And calls

 

And calls

 

And calls

 

…….. and calls