Elegy to Winter

Let the hearth lie
empty,
sweep the ashes from over
winter’s grave.

Now I unwind, unfurl and stretch out my limbs,
spreading palms open wide as I reach for the sun’s warm orb overhead.

Every tree branch bears
itself to the open air,
devoid as though for the first time
of their melted snowy coats.

Snowmen mourn the disappearance of their feather beds.
They wave twig-arms high:
accidental protrusions as they dilapidate
into disfigured relics of something lost,
but not forgotten.

The seasons sacrifice
themselves to each other,
completing a consummate cycle,
giving life to breathe it into something else.

Nature alone knows their sacrifice.
She spreads down blankets of flowers over the melting corpse,
and pressing vivid blue kisses down upon winter’s pale forehead,
she whispers,

Now I wonder, sweet winter, how long
will these spring streams
flow through my veins
before I miss you again.