In the night, frosted pines reach up into the darkness
slightly moving in the wind, under the weight of snow.
Behind this small forest, Axamer Lizum hides, caught
in the winter silence, waiting for the edelweiss days.
Walking down a steep hill, one wonders at those
who, more elderly, must use canes or stop, and stare
at the tall trees, thinking of younger days, but not
wanting to traverse the past, like the mountain
paths, old, worn, fading into a darkness, no
longer easily remembered in conversation.
Only once, between coffee and slices of gugelhofp,
the man's bright half-smile frames a memory of love
which he cannot understand, but keeps in a small
corner of his mind, like a slightly soiled receipt for
cigars and matches. Turning back to conversation,
he pushes a memory back, the pesky live fly.
He, wondering why he is thinking of the rain-swept
night of prepared speeches and farewells so far away.
He knows he was dishonest, but not wanting the
pain of change, or the challenge of love, his soul
remains caught in the mystery of the black sky
of the Tirol. Tomorrow, he will sit by the fire again,
smoking, trying not to reflect on that day so long
ago when he shut the door, like the large wooden
ones of Pfarrkirche, St. Veit an der Glan.
Ornate metals of intricate design hold back the
gnawing doubts which try to define the meaning
of love and suffering. He gives up the search, again,
walks outside into the blackness and seeks the stars
which are not seen-Orion, Strider, refuses to comfort
his naval eyes. Choosing sadness has become a habit
which wraps his heart against the reality of the cold.
