and already i’m meltwater
twigs and stones compressed in what

remains of the snow     no time
for this rushed migration of

sunlight     habit only     no one
feels like it anymore but we

wind the clocks     we scrape
the windows     peer through

nights dripping from eaves     we pour
ourselves onto blankets     into

the old poems     we sing the
months of night toward the bulbs

underfoot     we picture the
shoots we won’t see until spring

time breathes ice into my
lungs instead of words     little

burrs of frost to remind me i
belong only to dying     what can god

say in the face of this vastness     my
chest constricted by bands of cold song

seeping under the skin     how can one
voice be so close and so small