December

December

 

My White December

There’s no perfect harmony to the underside of a white Canopy

The brilliance of summer’s light

That made all the things possible

Has turned the cold stars.. Colder

This poem becomes my defense

Against my white December

Until I walk awhile

Tasting the cold crisp air

Passing a window with a faint glow

From the Christmas tree

Do I understand..

If I stand, in shadow- less silence

Listening, watching

Everything becomes artistic and solitary

Brushed in a burst of fruition

In every shade of red and green.

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