Make even the frost holy

The every day winter
sun comes cold
like a wave like another wave
small, still, returning home
and with each
I’m filled with
love
for the lonely wind
and the wandering hour
and songs written long ago
for this arc of thin light
for the wave, for the wood dove
holding each other
love
the burning center
of all things

— From my notebook
(for Keith Zarriello)

photo credits
(where not otherwise credited)

“Painted rose” / photograph by Morgan Petroski on Unsplash.com