Musings on a Frosty Afternoon by Hannah Robinson

Stop Pretending
Scolding myself, watching snowflakes swirl in lazy chaos
That you are a Poet!
How curious that snow falls into postcard poses—even the knurliest white pine in
February looks like Christmas with fresh snow
Every reflection and tragic thought you’ve ever had
I ache for your quiet company like the bare spaces between my toes
ache
when I thrust them, frostbite pink and trembling, into deep snow
Has been observed before.
A barnyard duck is sleeping beneath bridal-clad rhododendron--
chilly webbed toes
snuggled in an iridescent canopy of down
There is no more to say.
If you were here, I would lean closer and whisper:
What do you suppose a duck dreams?