Fri, 21 December 2007 Midwinter
The moon hovers –
Almost-fat,
Ghost-thin –
In the sapphire sky.
The solstice sun –
Scarlet-fury,
Winter-weak –
Slips 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.
