Drift Fence
By John Delonas
Life is now--
Immediate;
Death is future:
"Oh! Ghost of Xmas Future,
I fear thee most."
One by one
The Christmases lengthen
In loneliness,
Until there is none
But the crisp, icy snow
Pressed against the midnight thigh
Of the winter eve;
And time drifts over us
And our monuments.
Nature locked in intercourse
With its seasonal mistresses,
Heeds not our pleas;
Us, the unloved ones, lonely pickets
Marking off time in the endless
White drifts--
The containers of Nature
Are now so contained.