The Whites
Poems written in a New Hampshire diner.
―
1.
North Conway woods—
sideways November light slips
between bare branches.
2.
Fall loosens its grip,
or maybe I’m the one who
cannot hold it still.
3.
The old man’s stone face
gave way to weather and time—
souvenirs remain.
4.
First snow on the Kanc—
the White Mountains disappear
to become themselves