valentine by Charles Carr


Clouds are quiet as an older couple
comfortable with the softening of age.
The temperature is low even for this altitude.
We have taken its advice and layered:
thirty-eight years, parka, flannel, fleece.
Two deer raise their heads from the water
where they drink but are not alarmed, game
does not follow hunt this far down river.
A heron shivers like a statue as if to cherish
the instant before it claims a trout a victory
for all herons. We too are still, if we make
a sound it’s a quick gasp of lung to remind us
our biology, the same bald eagle as last
spring, the wind from its wings has smoothed
the sky like a crumpled sheet of paper. Now
it reads us from a list of heights it plans
to reach today.

by Charles Carr

Twitter: @selfrisinmojo

Editor’s Note: The imagery of this poem is astonishingly beautiful, and quite fitting for this day.

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