Winter, season of stars
When clear cold nights collide with morning
The moon in her high, blue nest
The orange flame of sun flickering
Up, up, up,
Casting pink souffle across strips of cloud.
This is when the stars shine best,
Lingering into the biting frost of day,
Shimmering in their settled places.
Our waking is such sweetness,
The baby’s face is like the moon,
Round and smiling, curious.
Each morning, a ritual,
We watch the school bus round the corner,
Our two heads peering from the front window
Of this house at the forest edge
This strong house,
In which we have been for nearly a year.
Last year there were two of us,
Two more eyes to see the world,
Two more hands to spread warmth,
One more life to shine.
Spruce trees huddle,
Wise old men standing at the back of a room
Discussing muffled opinions,
Politics, peace, times of great conflict
Muted from within this glass dome,
Snow dusted limbs, be still
As the stars
Like snowflakes landing.