we wait on the embankment

in front of tombstones of trees

waiting for the siege of winter

watching the shadows of lanky birches

scar the burnt mountainsides

and the creek cough it’s weak trickle

the footsteps of wind emerging from every corner

Januarys use to be more fertile

use to drop its dress over the

rusted ironwork of branches

by now

Mt Tecumseh would lower it’s staircase to our

two conspiratorial hammocks

strung between two seasons

two falling birds and two twin leashed suns

when finally the library above pushed its books from its shelves

released its white roosters

we pressed on ahead

cut the virgin day in two

composed the most marvelous living music

of ski against snow

crunch against slide

and finally when flanked by night and temperature

a fire rose from the snow

warming a pouch of wine

and toes gnawed on by cold

we retreated to the swing of a hammock

dangling from one season to the next

the chandelier of snow above us mounting