Late February
a trio of winter poems
Late February
Is this the perfect
prayer? Startled by the sight
of a cardinal
in the snow—Lord, your bright world—
words cannot contain my praise.
*
The scent of woodsmoke
and snow hissing as it falls
over the old snow.
*
In the backyard, bare
trees ensnare the Hunger Moon—
I shift my sight. How
the small blue light makes a point
and bores a hole through the cold.
lovely lovely lovely and the image too ...