All out of doors looked darkly in at him
Through the thin frost, almost in separate stars,
That gathers on the pane in empty rooms...
What kept him from remembering what it was
That brought him to that creaking room was age.
AN OLD MAN'S WINTER NIGHT ~ Robert Frost

Shiny sheet ice mirrors sky, the rapture
caught in an old gent’s eyes; shared, he and I,
our paths fleet passing, a pause to capture
pewter-shadow tree line--and hear the sigh.

He drives a power wheelchair, smiles, rides by;
sheers the bumps and steers the stretches of slick,
tracking freeze-frame footprints – patience, oh my! –
while, I, in fulsome stride so blessed and quick.

The effort warms chill air, makes the breath thick,
mingles joys while I mull his legions trapped
within frailty there where mortar sets brick;
a spirit loosed in snowscape, thermal-wrapped.

Skied cross-country, played ice-hockey, did he?
Strapping, that man must have been, that I see.


© Helga Ross 2003, 2006