Winter-whitened sun

makes a cold, pretty morning–

gentle, short-lived light.

The cold that nestles,

knits a blanket, lights a fire,

turns you toward yourself.

The cold rain shivers.

I dart, indoors to indoors,

generous shelters.

The cold rain shivers.

I dart, indoors to indoors,

generous shelters.

God, it is so dark.

My throat closes like the night,

kaleidoscopic.

At five, the sky rusts.

My stride matches my husband’s,

a shared metronome.

The sky is no clock.

My body wants to obey

its demand for sleep.