Skiing Through the Woods
The trail was whispering beneath my feet,
the fir boughs heavy laden as I passed.
A snowshoe hare jumped out and loped ahead –
its whiteness into whiteness was complete.
I’m lost, I said, but also knew I’m not
and ached a satisfaction to my bones.
I laughed, but no one heard me way out there.
I moved like smoke, my sweat not cold, but hot.
But really there was nothing left, no thrills
that I could turn in to a further dare.
The gliding shadow of myself was made
of snow and light, and up the startling hills
and down we went, my shadow self and I,
and all around was winter white, and sky.
Alan Clark is a poet and artist living in Maine, and has had a long association with Mexico. He has three books, Guerrero and Heart’s Blood, set in pre-Conquest Mexico, Where They Know, poems, and In Love and Wonder, paintings. His work has appeared in Little Star 5, The Caribbean Review, Adirondack Review, Zocalo Poets, Numbat, Wolf Moon Journal, and others.