11.2.06

Alphabet of Days (23)

23.

Winter Poem

This wind has a mouth
for winter. And such
an irresistible urging
to give my silence
a home for the night.
Rain to ice to dawn,
dark broodings, not bad,
just a mystery I don’t want
to solve, but I choose
to close the book, turn off
the lamp, then listen
for your breathing,
for blood thumping
through your heart,
for the soft groan
that is my life.

2 comments:

Anonymous said...

There is "warmth" in this winter poem, Sam.
Excellent close, too.

sam of the ten thousand things said...

Thanks, Paula, for the read and for the words.