"Awake in light and without hurry, I wrote"

Awake in light and without hurry, I wrote 
while my students wrote of mornings. A rose 

before the light, a perfumed chamber, alone.
Arose in cold darkness. How I wanted to look out 

from a high place. Wanted the view, warm, 

a hammock, a stack of books, no others,
my children (tight knot

in the rope) with me, in my sight,
playing, or maybe sleeping, out of harm, 

not needing me. 

"Jewel-glow fruit gummies, sugar the body needs"

Jewel-glow fruit gummies, sugar the body needs
too much, not enough, sleep, pain, shoulder blades

all ache from sitting up to see snow-swarmed
streets, maelstrom of ice pellets blown

by the car’s draft, not fall, but swirl, surround.

Each night, changes in pressure explode
the slate in bursts, like some unknown animal

knocking loud against the roof of this house,
last winter filled with grand pianos

kept warmer than we permit ourselves.

"Six months of winter make season"

Six months of winter make season
a lie snow buries in evidence. A preponderance

of icy wind. We walk uphill
clutching another’s arm,

past harmless flakes, shards slick as luck.

Talk flickers, raw with it, she winces.  
Clouds shift, light floods the room, 

warmer voices tender a way to speak 
without hearing my own voice  

an instrument I still play badly.