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Deep Cold of Winter
*Editor's Note: First published in Poetry Storehouse, 2014. Collected into This Thirst, Kelsay Books, 2017.
Is there a chance I will get a clear look at these woods?
Framed in our picture window, trees huddle close together,
a tight space I’ve drawn in pen & ink, in watery blues
struggling not to spoil the light snow falling like moths
caught in a mason jar—the muffled coo of mourning
doves roosting on silvery branches . . . I think the deep
cold will seize my breath if I were to go out there
and stand with my hands in my pockets & wait
for the solitary moment to make sense, in the way black
& white makes sense in winter, where the out-of- the-blue
trill of a cardinal’s dusky notes sounds flawless— a song
sung with a splash of red . . . I know the canvas of
words has so many possibilities like my paintings
made from something real & unpredictable as living
here without a lasting outline.