Winter Dreams
Waiting, gifted, transitory,
A white crust of bread
Each snowflake the better part of me
Sun rising over snow laden barn;
Owls retire,
Stroked by sunbeam fingers
Much softer than my own.
It is a time of downy mornings calling
Through a chilly air to kiss my breath:
“Wake up Jake, the pump is frozen”
I’m awake.
Sheets are laid across the pond.
Beneath; the water sleeps
As ice breaks on the bow
Of every duck as
They cross in columns
Leaving ice cubes in their wake.
Winter’s breadcrumbs;
Marking trails for their return,
Spilling the ice
From mother nature’s trays.
A crunching sound of footsteps
Travels miles to be near.
Deer will twitch and flick a favored ear.
Icy needles, spiky columns
Ice glistening
On each winter’s retina
As cold invades
Every winter bone.
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