ANNE WHITEHOUSE

New Year's Musings

I.

Before life there was
this cold exhale off the snow,
its smell of water-and-air
so ethereal it seems
the essence of breath.


II.

Under her veil, the bride wept
to see the groom borne in
on his groomsmen’s shoulders.
Balanced precariously,
his glasses quivered
on the bridge of his nose.


III.

I saw in the concert hall
listening to the Estonian composer’s
strange quintet of viola and cello
accompanying the singer’s
pure, high soprano.

As the eerie sonorities
vibrated and dissipated,
I thought of all the music
being created in the city
at this moment.

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