Hunters in the Snow
My hair made antlers.
*
The sky: coloured lead.
*
‘I’m not enough?’
*
Green was everywhere.
Green laughed
*
I pointed, ‘That’s new.’ Had I expected skaters still cutting circuits into the ice?
‘I thought it’d be more green, like in the painting.’
*
Green said.
We had a good view of Ikea on Amrasa-See-Strasse where the lake used to be.
*
‘Things change,’
*
Trees weren’t lined in a perfect diagonal to lead us into the scene; painted white, the church steeple was now difficult to pick out from the snow, and the river was in the wrong place though still rippled like a vein hanging from the teeth of the Alps like a shred of Actaeon.
*
We had walked a short distance from the Hotel Bierwirt where my husband was sleeping off the previous evening’s overindulgence.
*
We stopped to look across Amras as if we were hunters come home empty handed. Behind us Ambras Castle, its windows cross stitched eyes, birds’ footprints.
We had walked a short distance from the Hotel Bierwirt where my husband was sleeping off the previous evening’s overindulgence.
Trees weren’t lined in a perfect diagonal to lead us into the scene; painted white, the church steeple was now difficult to pick out from the snow, and the river was in the wrong place though still rippled like a vein hanging from the teeth of the Alps like a shred of Actaeon.
‘Things change,’ Green said.
We had a good view of Ikea on Amrasa-See-Strasse where the lake used to be.
I pointed, ‘That’s new.’ Had I expected skaters still cutting circuits into the ice? ‘I thought it’d be more green, like in the painting.’ Green was everywhere.
Green laughed, ‘I’m not enough?’
The sky: coloured lead. My hair made antlers.
