On Top of the World

In Bayfield,
along the shores of Lake Superior,
we feel like we’re on top of the world.

Beneath the lindens
so frozen in golden splendor,
where we wile away the hours
and our walk is more uphill than down,

the air remains rarefied and pure,
the light still welcoming and warm.

We pause, pace ourselves,
far more willing to breathe

fern,
honeysuckle,
jasmine flower
brewed, steeped to tea

as we straddle
this great gap of time
between sheltering and shelter,

sustaining and sustenance.

We watch the terns
from the public pier,
and the black-backed seagulls.

Strange
how they mimic the shoreline

of Chequamegon Bay,
the way the cormorants
will always return to a familiar roost

or much later over January ice,
how the road to Madeline Island
is lined with discarded Christmas trees,

for them, finding new purpose,

something of a far greater value
long after they’ve exceeded their useful lives.

*

From Out East

comes the blue house
with lace at the windows

and a rising full moon.

In the face of pretense
flies the tired complacency
reflected in the eyes of painters and poets,
the incorrigible dreamers
gone out in a blizzard of yellow taxicabs
to spill this separate and conditional peace.

From out East
comes the literature,
words written out like a declaration,

and the culture
and the history of a civilized society

rejoices in the rising sun
and in the grandeur of cities,
pools in the deep and infinite sky.

A stubborn persistence
held the hand of a workingman
who turned these forested farm fields
to cedar fence rails with lichened stone
and the split ash baskets of potatoes and fruit.

From out East
comes a light breeze
rustling the leaves (reminding us of home),
collars turned up against the cold, damp air,
fingers dug into the pockets of a camelhair coat.

Our hearts are warmed
from the shine of good intentions,

from a blue house
with lace at the windows
and the frozen laundry pinned to a clothesline

waiting for someone,
waiting for someone.

W. A. Reed , Cedarburg, Wisconsin, is the Managing Editor for PORCUPINE Literary Arts Magazine . He has been writing poetry and short fiction for many years. His work has appeared in numerous small press literary arts magazines and literary journals, and can be found in two chapbooks: A Pocket Full of Tin and Space and Sight. He is currently at work on his second novel, The Arsonist of Bowerbank.