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image by Victoria Woollen-Danner

poem from New England Primer
by Bruce Guernsey


For a door
the eye of a telescope.
the infinite galaxies of snow,
cinders for stars.

In this roundness
the dog alone
circling his spot
can sleep.
The rest of us?—
searching for corners.

The only window,
a hole for fire.
The startled explorers,
their tracks
filling with snow,
seeing the smoke.

Those shadows on the wall
bending over the flame,
that flickering of hands
on the endless wall.
their lips are moving
but not a word.

Copyright Bruce Guernsey. All rights reserved.