Thursday Poem - At Sunrise on Winter Days

At sunrise on winter days, our trail unfolds

through freshly fallen white, and every unhurried

footfall crafts another waxing moon,

the sound of our muffled steps rising
through hedges and snow-drowned spruces,
three hearts beating together in perfect time.

Frozen goldenrod and milkweed fronds,
great trees weighted down by the season,
all incline their heads in greeting.

Ghost choirs of last summer's grosbeaks
sing above our heads, and phantom starlings
dance along roof lines as we pass by.

Winter rounds the sleeping village out,
smooths the contours of house and street,
spins flowing deserts out of snow.

In morning softness, we know ourselves
at last—perfect, still and so complete
nothing abandoned or left behind.

Cate (me)