It seems like a communion wafer we all can dissolve in, and share.
I am taking a vow
to witness the earth turning toward light
and turning away
each day
like dragging a back skate to slow the glide across
childhood¹s frozen river
a way to catch the breath and hold it.
Today, not quite solstice,
as the last of autumn¹s leaves answer the wind
with rattled throats
the sunrise has no color
and stirs reluctantly beneath
its gray felt cover.
It slowly realizes the
melted yellow of
butter in a bowl of winter oats.
My surprise today is the love I taste
for shadow.
I don¹t wish to hurry toward the light
no longing draws me in spite of cold.
The blue and purple, gray-brown sift
nestles against the lea side of the house
my leg the mulberry
quiet, not asking
it offers deep forgiveness.
