Month of poems.
and grey. Tears of amber sap, of cold,
frost and snow days
when even the birds go inside.
Winter hedges us along, the red berries bright
against the rust-brown, moss-covered,
lichen-mottled shades of January.
We must be careful what we think about these days.
We’re at the age now when our thoughts begin to settle in plain view.
It could happen overnight—one day we could wake up
and find our sorrows etched forever on our faces.