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.