A knoll of pine trees

Tops too tall to see

A circle implied

Because there is a seat

At zero point


And snow falls:

Flakes congealed into comic blobs

That fall in quiet plops

On branches and,

When straighter, onto

The granite surface


The needly floor,

Covering a sleepy earthen

Solemn way to

Narnia or Middle Earth


No lamppost,

Elf, or orc, either, only a winter

Day on planetary sides

Where worlds meet


A place made up

And does exist

For I am here


C L Couch