Poems October 2000
Chalet
The wild wind, the white wind . . .
Inside, in their long weekend,
Perhaps their last, there seems no season
Only exhausted obsession
With their past, like a film in color
Perversely techniqued to black-and-white,
Their unfeeling set in the pallor
Of a stiff glaze.
—But now
Suddenly, a frenzy of love-hate . . .
The wolf-wind howls through the snow . . .
A Message from the Editors
Support our crucial work and join us in strengthening the bonds of civilization.
Your donation sustains our efforts to inspire joyous rediscoveries.
This article originally appeared in The New Criterion, Volume 19 Number 2, on page 39
Copyright © 2024 The New Criterion | www.newcriterion.com
https://newcriterion.com/issues/2000/10/chalet