Whiteout, livre ebook

Books by George Murray Glimpse The Rush to Here The Hunter The Cottage Builder’s Letter Carousel Dante’s Shepherd (Inferno, Canto XXIV, Lines 1–15 Revisited) At dawn I walk to the bank in the rain, hood-peak pinned with one blue hand and wrist forced from its sleeve (while its twin does not deign to ditch the cuff, but hides instead, a fist worrying, a clenching/unclenching tide, mulling its wish to progress and subsist). The sky clears itself while I am inside, scuttling the dull clouds of a coastal morning for white litter on blue with sun cockeyed. It leans down on the hills as though scorning any doubt that the universe still lives without my happiness in bloom, warning, Look down at those matching hands: where one thrives, flush with life, if stiff and warming, the other, also red and aching, only now arrives. The New Weather Just before the key catches in the lock a snowflake lands on your eyelash and blurs the scene; stretching the instant an instant longer, slurring outer and inner worlds. A moment, a moment more; you dare not move, and so pause on the sill, wait for the tear that will form in either the new weather hot from the house, or your eye’s open stare.