winter walks dull everything

every sense but touch

despite squeezing them to slits

heavy flakes pry their way

past the lashed gates of my eyes

frost makes me brittle as river crust

I think of that beautiful clay roaster

which split in two

shocked from touching a chilled surface

still smoking from the oven

chicken juices pouring like lifeblood

waterfalling to the kitchen floor

I wonder if heat will shatter me if I ever find it

plodding onward through silence

I yearn for evening and my bed

for sleep deep as a sea

finally dragging snowclogged boots up the steps

the door reaches out like a liferaft

rescue from the icy ocean of work

the house opens its warm arms

a lover so intimate I don't mind stripping

hooking the sodden clothes up to dry

depositing the day smack on its pedestal

like some ugly old idol no longer worthy of worship

gathering book and throw

I wind into a cat curl and fall in upon myself

SMT 07/28/2013