aproprose: your song, 23rd February 2017

my back against the ground
the storm it baits and spits
a sound that’s all around surrounding
me as though it’s looking for
someone to take the fall for what I
can’t be sure an ire that shakes
the weather to its core
the very heart
a beating drum
an air of panic catching breath
breathing fire without a flame
(it won’t be doused) a mood
that makes its point it isn’t really
in the mood instead impatience void of
reasoning nor ill-content just barely any
sleep suspended in between
and exhaustion
can I bring to mind the first time I
touched snow and felt its light as airless
whiteness witnessing its slightness briefly
balanced shy above my warmer hand I tried
to count the flakes but soon gave up
open-eyed and open-mouthed at how it turned
my world into a world that didn’t look like
any world that I’d been used too in my
two years and a bit not much
experience to call on as all sightlines
redefined, realigned and redesigned, reinterpreted
for other eyes while it didn’t make
a sound (unlike this storm)
until I stepped out in its crisp adhesion to
the ground each footstep leaving footprints, bootprints
sinking deep into the snow
steps I thought would last forever then
in years to come I’d find them frozen still
although my feet by then would be much bigger than
they were much smaller then and anyway
they didn’t last more than a day and still
the skies exhuming something out of nothing this
magician wearing colours of the tumult that it
brings and keeps on bringing and still I find
I’m calling it an ‘it‘, an it that has more life
it seems I’ve ever had in me
much more air than I could breathe
just a crack
I edge the window open just a crack
and in a blink it whistles in as tuneful as it
beckons seems to dare me, draw me, tempt me
out I pull it tight and wrap
the house around me
lost inside its song.

© robert greig 2017


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