The Mind of Winter – a poem by James Crews

The Mind of Winter

The exquisite risk to still our own house . . . 
  —St. John of the Cross

This blankness is not so much a curse
as it is spacious and beckoning, the way
the curling white bark of the birch tree
stands out against all the black trunks
of maples around it, just waiting to be
written on, made useful, a natural canvas
for the hands of winter passing over it.
And the days are not uniform or gray but
begin with every hue of blue pressing through
snow clouds at dawn like a sudden blade
of light through stained-glass, illuminating
steaks of violet and pink that, yes, will 
soon disappear, which is why we have to be
here at the window to see them, taking
the exquisite risk, as St. John of the Cross
once put it, to still our own house
so the spirit knows where to pass through.

James Crews is the author of four collections of poetry, The Book of What Stays, Telling My Father, Bluebird, and Every Waking Moment. He is also the editor of two anthologies: Healing the Divide: Poems of Kindness and Connection and How to Love the World: Poems of Gratitude and Hope.

1 Comment

  1. John Muro says:

    Enjoyed reading James Crews’ poem, “The Mind of Winter.”

    Liked by 1 person

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