January 19, 2007

Winter Morning

at sunrise on winter days
my trail is through newly fallen snow
every footfall a waxing moon

muffled footsteps rise
through snow-drowned spruces
heartbeats in darkness

goldenrod and milkweed
great spruces weighted under snow
all nod in early greeting

ghost choirs of summer grosbeaks
sing above my head, icicles forming
along rooflines as I pass by

winter rounds the village out
smoothing contours of house and street alike,
spinning deserts out of snow

in this morning softness, I know myself
at last — perfect, still and so complete
nothing abandoned or left behind