December - blizzard - your slim frame.
The dog is barking. Here and there
The friends of yours - titmice fly fast,
A gap - revolt - sense's outblast!
And then the soil. For everyone -
You're spinning, my first sin, my sun
My gullibility, my spring -
December, in the middle of him!
****
Your poem reminds me of what the Minnesota poet Robert BLY called LEAPING POETRY: A poet moves quickly from image to image and does not stop to explain them. He trusts his readers can do that for themselves. Bly's own image of LEAPING is really closer to FLYING, and he says when a poet leaps from image to image, the reader is in flight. In your poem you have us leap from a DECEMBER BLIZZARD to the SLIM FRAME (of the beloved?), and then over animals
and friends until we come to rest on the SOIL occupied by EVERYONE. Our flight ends in a crowd of people who have not experienced poetic flight. Then SPINNING replaces flying and three things spin into your view - sin(?), sun, spring - an alliterative trio! But the dream of flight and spinning dissolves and you are left with the reality of winter in the presence of an unnamed
man - HIM. So much LIFE in just eight lines!!
DB.