Winter Caresses

We wave back to the many-sided pale tan wings 

with their November warnings.  

the barren cornstalks whisper- 

my tree and I hold each other more tightly  

as we stumble along the path,  

faintly nodding to roots dappled in white  

staring at us from the hole we’ve just abandoned 

where the god of hope had dropped its seed.  

bushes stretch their limbs toward us, 

ambivalent in intent. 

our attic’s gray warmth lures us forward - 

soggy brown leaves shiver and point to a runway 

disappearing beneath a flightpath of tomorrows’

lift-off? When? 

13 crows - jealous of our passionate union - caw

into the opaque shadows,  

adorning the wires like a necklace waiting for its designer. 

each time I mount the attic stairs, 

I caress the tree of summer, 

feel the hot knotted bark press into my back,  

scratch bloody my thighs. 

together, we fondle pregnant words,  

stolen from winter’s blue ice.