The Seasons and the Slants (V2)


  by Michael Lee Johnson


I live my life inside my patio window.

It’s here, at my business desk I slip

into my own warm pajamas and slippers-

seek Jesus, come to terms

with my own cross and brittle conditions.

Outside, winter night turns to winter storm,

the blue jay, cardinal, sparrows and doves

go into hiding, away from the razor whipping winds,

behind willow tree bare limb branches-

they lose their faces in somber hue.

Their voices at night abbreviate

and are still, short like Hemingway sentences.

With this poetic mind, no one cares

about the seasons and the slants

the wind or its echoes.