February sun

Sun pale like the down on your facealmost imperceptible: glancing off tree barkhovering in cool strip skippingthrough frosted woods.Dead leaves underfootheart in hibernating peacegone to a place where nothing moveslocked in a sepulchre far from here.Last night I thought I’d writebut quickly realized (as the old moonstared through blank black space)yes I quickly realized there’s nothing there.Sun pale like a young child’s hairglancing off dead things as if warmthhad never been as if there wasn’ta ‘’you and me’’I watched it stroke the treeswondering if next yearI’d still be sitting here rememberingthe way it might have beenbefore the winter claimed us.