Absence
I take the dog out for a walk before dawn
and there is an absence of tonality, just penetrating cold.
My thoughts move between stars.
I sense the absence of time
from pinheads of light
that sparkle like the obtuse angles of absence.
I am absent in this fractal, sub-zero darkness.
Lumbering onward in the frozen flat of a winter dirge,
I cross myself before the distant house lights,
a rusted crucifix imagined in hand.
Resting on the path, I momentarily dance in place
like some arctic gnome,
then spontaneously and ashamedly pray
for the distance to shorten,
imagining myself absent from the freeze,
absent from the chill,
caressing the sun,
the blossoms of spring.
– Burt Baldwin, Bayfield