One of the poems I've been working on when my mind is too weary to write politics. The photo below shows the place that inspired the poem.
Your body forgets the cold—long lines above the fold
of winter. You may remember the frost fondly,
settling in towards morning on azalea and liriope,
sheen set by first light scattered over miles traveled
in these parts as a child out of step
with rhythms of the common world.
Old flesh wants distance and intimacy at the same time,
seeks the improbable while pushing the inevitable aside,
knowing the cold comes soon enough in a line
stretching far beyond—even outwitting—the eye.
(Kay B. Day/2012)