still the old pull,

fifteen calendars later —

her missing mother

(for TK, MKD, and other folks missing loved ones tonight)

winter layers —

behind the stars

more stars

again and again

the water comes back to stand

in the old places

their big girl’s birthday —

my parents tell baby stories

one more time

winter night —

all through the house the whisper

of pages turning

a promise to help

followed by the knowledge —

some things can’t be helped

(for you, SM)

on top of the tree —

the memory of the star

we lost in the flood

slow down enough and

we can see individual

snowflakes as they fall

imagining

all of today’s rain

as snow

early thaw —

the front yard bunny’s hop

has an extra spring

feeling sure at last

that the tide is coming in —

the longest night

making up the beds,

preparing for the solstice...

we switch to flannel

midwinter quiet —

no one misses

the mosquitos

my thoughts

with the travelers

on the snowy road

tonight’s moon

so full it seems almost

ready to divide

seeing it at last —

my profile in my son’s

as he stands to sing

starting at the ends

we work towards each other —

driveway shoveling

ice on the world

the shimmer and shine of it

beautiful danger

mid-December light —

the frayed edges of our days

as they grow shorter

just below the dam

the last unfrozen water

gathering geese

snow on the dogwood
glimpsed for just a moment
mistaken for blossoms

all day we carry

the feeling of the slow glide

before the crash

(for N.D., who thankfully didn’t crash after all)

temporary thaw —

the sound of ice releasing

its grip on the roof

the pent up pressure

of tears held forcibly back —

winter gratitude

warming my fingers

by turning biscotti —

early December

late night rain storm —

each puddle its own little

chorus of welcome

the whole line of us
ensnared by morning fog
no longer struggling

a raccoon

stopped forever by the road

graceful even now

a pair of blue gloves

still in your coat pockets

from our last winter

he somehow misses

the every-night lullabye —

back to square one

the beautiful arc

of my sister’s unwanted

pie crust