Midnight Ski

The moon, half full, graciously bent
through the sparse haze of clouds.
Other lights too; the spark of aluminum
ski pole to ice, the glitter of stars mimicked
in the soft crust of snow. Still,
but for the occasional snow-go
or bush plane and of course the crunch
and slide of ski to trail.

A true moment of soundlessness
can encompass the entire world,
out there, alone,
on the bank of the Yukon. The wide
arching horizon- purified, dormant,
eternal.

Some say Alaska brings out your true self,
stripped down; this place reveals you-
a churning human in the winter tundra,
a shadow movement
on an otherwise blank canvas;
you become obvious.


***



When Considering Meeting Again for the First Time

This continuous ending, and beginning again,
always reappearing with new faces,
not even enough remnant to explain the old-
If only we could adjust to these freshly sealed skins,
our words could actually mean what they say
instead of the truth we know wraps tightly
around them like poems inside of paragraphs.
We could avert our eyes, the elder smiles
that shamelessly lean into our cheekbones-
never look, never touch, never tell.
We could stand before each other
as credulous and unacquainted as we can stand-

But this is futile,
for the wind will reveal us,
circulate between us,
and the moon will illuminate
what we try, half-hearted, to hide.

Johanna DeBiase