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.