A thaw in winter

Written en plein air, at midnight, sitting on a soaking wet bench as it began to rain.

Six inches of snow
Sank slowly into the ground.
I watched from the window
it left rings of white
at the bases of trees,
and browner snow trimmed
the dark brick walkways.

Now, at night,
the sodden wood bench
seems to rot beneath me.
I tiptoed between
the broken wood fence
and the blank brick wall
to get here.

Under a stark yellow light
The buildings hum with silent energy.
I crouch, the blunt point of the pencil
Smears.
Slow crackling, dripping turns to rain;
I left my umbrella hanging
On the latch of an open gate
Seven miles away.

Do I go back?