Nothing is itself now:
Snowshine lightens windows at midnight
changing darkness into light
stronger than yesterday’s cloudy noon.
My winter rabbits are invisible
though I see their tracks
left as they run to shelter
under the torn grill cover
huddled against windy snow.
I want to feed them
but they don’t come to my door
looking for the sweetness of peppers
as they did in the last real Winter.
The time for turning in
for seeking what’s real
inside warm twilights
before seeding the new gardens-
That time is gone for now.
No easy charity of lettuces
can take the place of standing
in the icy wind shouting
singing back what is lost
until we trade our voices for it.
If we lose a finger or a voice
to the icy wind ripping our words away
if we give up the soft songs
we sing in our Winter meditations
even if none of it matters in the end
if the end comes too soon-
In that end, we will have become ourselves.