Midwinter

The moon hovers –
Almost-fat,
Ghost-thin –
In the sapphire sky.

The solstice sun –
Scarlet-fury,
Winter-weak –
Fumes through skeletal trees.

My breath curls –
Word-smoke,
Lung-hope –
With the forest mist.

The Earth dreams –
Frost-blanketed,
Ice-cosy –
And I listen, still.

Maura McHugh
December 21, 2007