Snow Confessions

I know this anatomy of white chutzpah

The intractable whiteness of its steps

in the snow I am a white horse ranting
I move as whitely as one must


I am a resting horse

Thinking irregular thoughts

About what's sleeping
Under the white drifting


I have a heart a shadow a book

A shadowbook of heart questions

This is no experiment
Says the snowdrift in her white suit


In your future, he says,

all things will be heavy


with ornamentation.

Rain arrives from many directions.


I kiss and kiss the bride

and grow more wet,


more horse-like by the minute.

Within my slicker I conceal


a photograph of brown horses.

I use it to shim the short leg


on my poem-chair. A small array

of necessities, an acorn breeze:


I feel kingly, squirreling this

and that into the dark, irrelevant mud.


To read more poems by Michael Loughran, please click here to purchase JUBILAT 11