January
Air bites, presses.
Cold cajoles,
rushes, sears, dares
the little garland tree
stripped against
an ever-darkening
night. Stars twinkle
blue, cool, far,
bare promises.
Impossible white
tips evergreens,
blankets dead
leaves, eases to
depressions of
animal feet—
squirrel, rabbit,
racoon, deer.
Bamboo, dry, rustles,
casts shadows long.
No song of light
seems probable
around these winter
corners, streets laid
with ice. But dawn
will come, surprise
embrace, shocking
day to surer hope.
Cold cajoles,
rushes, sears, dares
the little garland tree
stripped against
an ever-darkening
night. Stars twinkle
blue, cool, far,
bare promises.
Impossible white
tips evergreens,
blankets dead
leaves, eases to
depressions of
animal feet—
squirrel, rabbit,
racoon, deer.
Bamboo, dry, rustles,
casts shadows long.
No song of light
seems probable
around these winter
corners, streets laid
with ice. But dawn
will come, surprise
embrace, shocking
day to surer hope.
Labels: hope, waiting, wilderness
posted by L.L. Barkat at
9:05 PM
2 Comments:
"But dawn
will come, surprise
embrace, shocking
day to surer hope."
Thank you for that promise. I'll take your word for it and let the warmth of the truth infuse the dark January days with that hope.
"impossible white"
such tipping of evergreens is sight to behold.
"impossible white" ... this should be a new crayola color i think!
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