In Winter the Light is Different

     It's funny
how winter air is
heavy in all directions;
I feel drawn down to
a pinprick
of light through black fabric,

head down as if
my breath could
give back my heartbeat
as it condenses into crystals
around me.

     Bears and trees
hold no such arrogance,
autumn-flutter monarchs
understand: In Winter
the sun shines for the sky,
not for us, and Earth
herself has turned
along secret axes,

and we stand still,
wrapped in fire,
still believing she
was given to us
like a bride.

        (completed 5/6)