(C) R.L.K.
Too cold tonight for anything other
than idling about, in and not out. So
it comes to pass: I’m drinking a cup
of hot cocoa and staring out the window
while the moonlit trees cast ink-black
shadows on the snow. Consider that
or consider this: a voice on the radio
speaking of stars devoured by black holes
(does anti-matter matter?), followed by
more voices discussing the need to stimulate
the economy, then the too-familiar sound
of someone making the music of melancholy.
Meanwhile, the trees wait, yes, the old trees
wait and wait for another winter to pass.
