late night sleet

tapping against our windows —

we add a blanket

planting crocus bulbs —

this rich, dark earth smelling

just like a promise

(for MKR)

unrequited —

the sound of the moth’s

beating wings

(for JW)

what is required

when you hear a bird song

not heard before?

melting

into an ocean of sky —

slightly smaller moon

is there a breath

deep enough to move this weight

from my chest?

mid-November —

building time for ice-scraping

into my mornings

woodsmoke —

the smell of it weaving

through the trees’ dark limbs

getting used to ache

although I never meant to —

still just three days in