Frosty Morning Ii
Winter reminds me of wet coats
in the hall and the smoky kitchen heat,
of large logs sizzling,
exerting their wetness on the hearth stone;
cut fresh from the garden,
they fill the flagged floor with warmth.
Each morning pale yellow ashes lie
like floury dust around the fireplace,
a brighter yellow appears in the garden,
across the street,
when the rain beats upon the ash heap.
From Perfume of the Soil. Swan Press, 1999.
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