planting in winter light
the sharp (as the edge of a snow crystal at the first inhale of frozen air) gaze of the winter sun
devours the deciduous ones, standing bold in their nakedness
it eludes the paint brush, but hums a prayer that reaches deeper than my bones
these skeletal trees dancing with the changing winds of the north
like Isadora if her threads came from ancient wolves and spiders instead of silk worms
turn in my love
tune in to the core rings that hold sap through every storm and season
sing a whispered lullaby to the sleeping soil
nestle into the roots leading to what lies beneath
to the web of the elders
whose pollen dances with the edge of time and space
in this fleeting light
where shadows perch, hungry and hunting
answers to questions, not yet blossomed, cracked open