Junctions

This poem is about exploring in winter landscapes – and about terrain we know, terrain we don’t know that exists beyond what we know (those unfamiliar paths and streets that exist beyond the ones we know), and the known and unknown pathways of our minds….

Junctions
(A Dream)

I

from soft chairs by the fire
we spoke of discovery –
of Columbus & the moon, & tended
our wine glasses with civilized hands.

“there are lands
not on any map, yet on every map,
expanses
too small to map,
that wait in silence to be known.

“and the entire world obeys
the lines upon a map –
you take a step & roads conform.”

through frost-masked windows
my guests & I watched snow
swirl up in skirmishing whirlwinds
to meet clouds on distant mountains –
jagged peaks merged
with a white porcelain sky,
more brittle than the teacups in the cupboard.
each snow-wind, larger than the last,

swept the mountains
into the sky.

lured by the strangest gravity
we descended
from the heights of the house
into the frozen world, through a hollow
& towards the unknown mountains.

II

a trail of past time,
it appeared out of thickest bush:
a gateway to the mountains
for ancient hunting parties
& loggers in an unmapped land.
slowly we ascended,
level with the hilltops.

through the roof of branches we watched
the lamb-play of mountain clouds
as our breath became clouds
swirled by mountain winds,
but we felt no cold, we felt
only the forest within.

a bear nuzzled my hand
then lumbered off,
paws pushing the ground,
perfection in motion.

III

often the trail ahead
would lose itself in bush,
yet on our approach the bush divided
into trees with breathing spaces
in between.

at each fork we chose
the way leading into
higher realms & thicker trees –
like bears forging deeper
into their territory.

then suddenly this deepest trail
became a track, then a rough road,
& as it snaked through trees
we passed a few wild cottages
deep in the forest’s belly.

a curve, & ahead
was the pond at the junction
of the old mill road, where clapboard cottages
nestled close, & outside the tiny grocery store
the fat spaniel awaited his 3 o’clock bone.

IV

like the lightning flashes of synapses
that forge new links between brain cells,
unknown roads always meet the known,
& again & again such junctions appear
to make the world a more complete map.

now the landscape had grown one more line,
& the frozen world lay
at our feet.

we walked home along
roads we knew well,
with shadows of our former selves
striving beside us.
we glanced at the mountains
& the skirmishing whirlwinds
whose domain we had approached,
& knew next time we’d climb
right to the roaring
mists at the top,
& take a taste ourselves.

© Helen Iacovino