Cold sleep
winter solstice moon
waxes poetic with tales
of snug tight windows
there are few birds now
coyote songs sift through
the double glazing
northeast winds hammer
shaking the house
snow and sleet on the steel roof
nights draw in chasing
ever later sunrises
casting long shadows all day
as the weeks count past
I keep watch on the maple outside
icicles melting into buds
waiting for the moment
when sap rings chimes
in the sugaring pails
spring peepers weave rhymes
magicking me back to life
through the now open windows
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