Frosted Glass: James Adamson

The winter view is captured
in tree limbs sliced imagery
or clouds in the sky
that have aliens and penguins
and comic characters
frozen all winter
They ripple and layer
and unevenly capture the light
The inner rhythms of a word like frost
vibrate of the ancient wisdom
of letters though the glass
remains covered and I’m
inside this simple attempt
to disrupt my pleasure
Winter visitors down the back lane
and empty trees or cats hanging on
by frozen pizza of scrapings of turkey
are no better
Winter light is daylight no matter what
and it is only the aged
snow that becomes dirt covered
by the second
The crazy voices of
my disability try to speak of
frozen images that are babies
crying down the hall
who are born and never learn
during the depths of winter
And it returns me to the
reverberations; the children
of the descending penguin
or the cranial alien that are
nothing but their greatest triumph


From the self-published book of poems, Birds Kill My Wings (2001).