Dust packets drop from smoky sky
In streaks that etch the windowpane
And lens the iron balcony—
Drab ornaments to rime a tree
And stupefy the weather vane.
(The skater slides to slush-pooled stop
Convinced that metaphors must drop
Away from what was first supposed:
Rainy Monday’s rippling prose.)
R.H. Russell grew up in New England, which he continues to call home. One of his poems recently appeared in Touchstone, the journal of the Poetry Society of New Hampshire. Russell says: “I write poems because of the way the creative process totally eclipses my political anxieties, while connecting to a world of beauty that seems both distant and imminent.” In his professional life he focused on environmental advocacy and policymaking.