in this time of year,
testing your scarf and your collar and
tossing the locks of your hair
the chill will bring color across
the wheatfields in your cheeks
and the geese will have all gone
for the winter.
the embers on the hearth
are always glowing and never sleep.
january comes along
above the roof and past the windows
cold spatters of wet
and crystal sheets of frozen dew
that you can reach out and almost touch
with your fingers
but that are still
above the roof and past the windows.
on a neat square
of lavender felt
that lays gently across your lap
you keep a few holly leaves,
chips of willow bark
and fragrant buds of cedar
you pick up each
to set back down again.
