Wintertime can be a source of quiet comfort.
Right now, human life feels hard,
Who to see – when to stay away –
what to touch – how clean to be –
but the air of Texas winter
cups us in its soft hands
holds us close – fearlessly –
says Be calm – the moment
we open a door – no more
statistics for an hur, okay?
Trim that vine – it’s mine,
not yours – it’s winter’s quiet browning
surrounding – growing in the dark.
I’ll hold you too – says that air – until
a better season comes. Trust me.
Some days I’ll blow a bit of cooler air
I’ll be the comforter of cloud
pitched across your sky.