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