Collected Poems 14
Indiana Winter
A thermometer would let us know
When the sheet of ice on the lake
Could hold our gliding weight.
In early November
Our pace would slow to shuffling
Along the corridor between classes
To stop at a frosted pane
And squint out at a thin column of red
On a narrow wooden frame,
Then pass on,
Pestering the Indiana cold in,
Four weeks early.
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