The days are short,
The sun a spark
Hung thin between
The dark and dark.
Fat snowy footsteps
Track the floor,
And parkas pile up
Near the door.
The river is
A frozen place
Held still beneath
The trees’ black lace.
The sky is low.
The wind is gray.
The radiator
Purrs all day.
Image above: Birds In Snow by James A. Mangum.
Words above: January by John Updike.