When winter comes
The pool is covered and the leaves
fill the old claw foot tub, crimson and orange
rust and yellow wet and running
together with the cold grey
rain and the seeping darkness that surrounds
us as we linger in the brisk air wishing
for one more hour of light.
There is nothing left in the yard but broken
sticks and a few yellowed papers we forgot
to collect and now are too wet to touch.
There is little to say except we should
go in now that the twilight plummets and
slams evening down to the earth.
You wrap in sweaters I wrap my hands
around a tea mug and we wonder in
silence about the one who runs
this show and why the shift from light to dark so
fast and permanent.
We are living in the creator’s hands, which take
a rest to grow new light and
new hearts. We bundle together and shrug
shoulder to shoulder waiting to be buried
and reborn in the artists better knowing
remade to bloom in a different place and time.
I am not afraid knowing we
are wrapped and held together until
the light returns. We are bound up
in the love of one who made us and
can welcome the rest.