January

I can’t quite shake the cold from these bones

Or darkness from whatever passes for soul.

Sure, day is on the rebound, but night swallows

The lion’s share of our hours, and the sky

Seldom parts to show a star, the moon tugging

The tides but lost to our eyes otherwise.

It takes a toll to dwell here, and when I die

I will not be surprised if it is in these arms,

Skin that flakes like the snow, bones that

Creak like bare branches in the wind. Tonight

Rain will thread the heavens; you will walk

The dogs and come home wet. I will leave

A towel in the garage, and dry, we will drop

Beneath the blankets toward tomorrow,

Doing what we can to stay warm and alive.

1/7/2023