by Gideon Burton
Amid what winter now? And why so weak?
Stand longer at that window, watch awhile
until the street lamps turn to stars. I speak
as one who's paced within the snow compiled
in dirtied layers washing greys and grit
across cold spaces, stupid with the cold.
And I have paused to ask the point of it,
and wished I would awaken, hot and bold.
But now I join these witnesses who voice
the silent sudden warming wonders dense
about us, deepened by each watcher's choice
to fully feel divinity's suspense.
We watch with you throughout each blackened night,
beside you through the winter of your fight.
Photo: flickr - perisho