“Proofs of Winter” by Bruce Rice



nothing more
as cracks in the walk show through
like veins under skin     a sign
for the kind of intimacy that buries its scars
slips beneath the talk talk talk
and finds its way
a kind of rest

like spaces left in the tracks of birds
without loss
without words


Two resolutions:
to look out the window more often
to know the difference
between smalt blue
and cobalt which came later
and how the colours we invent
are still true colours
known all along to the first light that hits them

and so it seems to me my pictures of things
are true things
real as ice
on a clump of hawthorn berries
the same ruby flesh
the same burden


Between storms
wings lift the intentions of birds     a whirr
of precision as roofs disappear
in snow-piled planes pierced by a steeple
the iron bell stilled to a kind of perfection

an assurance in the heart there is such a thing
a kind of ease


Things I know
I know by walking through them
this is why we have seasons
our strangeness is
to want to see what is new as the world
comes out of darkness
sometimes a cirrus wisp in a deep sky     blooms
and fills with itself
as I am
when I am walking through—to the end of it
and if this wind with its reasons takes me
then we are even


This poem was originally published in The Vivian Poems: Street Photographer Vivian Maier (Radiant Press 2020).

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