Valentine in the Snow
What if I fill a bucket
with paint or blood
pull on my tall boots
and wade out
into the back yard
where thigh high snow
gleams whiter than white
dimpled with rabbit tracks
freckled under the feeder
with hulls of sunflower seeds?
Carefully I’d tip
the bucket to pour
like maple syrup
a thick and steady stream
with which to draw
into the snow
a huge lopsided heart
with a little curled flick
at its bottom vee.
I’d have to walk
my way all around
the perimeter of the scarlet
that could be seen
by passengers on planes
and birds en route
to the feeder
the chickedees and red polls
and one cardinal one day.
I guess no one would see
me splash my crimson cry
against the black and white
and endless winter
Even so I think I’d lie right down
in the center of that heart
a performance artist
shivering out a message
in the Adirondack snow.
One Wild and Precious Life 