When Winter Comes - Poetry

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.