Composition

I have watched from this chair all afternoon
alone, while snow traces features of hills
I'd never noticed, watching the light fall,
get up, fall, pulling the dark after it.

No one is here. No one inhabits me
but my poem, images that stumble, rise
to take the air, refusing measure, lines
refusing breath.Tangible as angels.

The house is still, my wife& children gone
till dinner. No one. The quiet almosty breaks
it is so fine,this paper always blank
where I sit, shaking, shaking words like bells
in the company of strangers, myself.