Trying

Beauty will be convulsive or not at all.
          – André Breton

Today, gratitude has been difficult.

The lightness of this week's sleep
like a body inside my body
suddenly limp, tired of trying.

Last night, my brain shot straight up
like a child at bedtime, begging:

One more story. One more song.

And now, a new night approaching,
the forecast for snow and no one ever knows
how much. But I'm a sucker for surprises:

Like the lake this morning, the old Hays Lake,

to my left for the lingering mile. How, today,
it made such a grand show of silence,
impossible glints all along its surface.

This is what I want when I say beauty,
I mean persistence: these reversals we endure—

a hurried blur of clouds closing in.

(Originally published in Northwind)