they should be the shortest days
but they feel like the longest.
Yesterday I walked through a field scattered
with zeros, wondered if it was a message
but it was where sheep had lain overnight
and frost had frozen the grass around them.
We curl sadness about us like a cat’s tail
living our secrets – behind doors;
I am a bird with a broken wing
flapping against a window
I am a lame deer dragging
from room to room.
These are the days of snow and ice
we wake each dawn to the thinness of light.