Sledding

“do you have any memoriesof him?” this one emergingout of the wind,the blank gray stones of thatvague house quietunderneath a blazeof snow. the red Maryland forest curving like the rimof a dull sun, a blooded autumn frayon the steep winter hill. these things fall lightand fast on my closed eye, maybe true or maybe the lines I shaded inmany years later.maybe the snowsuitwasn’t crimson, soft and worn, maybe the skya looming blue. but this I know: my father’s armsaround me,the uncontrollable whimof the falling sled,snowflakes bentlike cold steelon my lips.