knocked down the icicles
so they wouldn't be weighing on
our front gutters now.
Yet these icicles
in late February sun
shine like the soaring silver-white
pipes on the Fisk Organ
down at church,
like the luminous tall cactus formations
in Organ Pipe Monument
near Ajo, Arizona,
like the brightly shadowed
Organ Mountains in southern New Mexico.
The sun is warm
on my face and arms
as I do nothing
but listen
to this drip-drip,
drip-drip-drip music,
a once in forever rhythm and melody
for just these unbidden elemental moments
in this forested, northerly,
inordinately wild place.