rosepoems

It’s going to get cold tonight
according to the birds,
and the bits of frozen rain
beginning to fall.
And it often does this time of year.
But the cold tonight is somehow different
because my house is especially quiet
and my walls are especially thin,
but just for tonight.
The wind brings the cold and
I can hear it, the wind that is.
Better than usual because
I’m actually listening
and Saint Sebald is searching
for stillness, to no avail.
It’s not angry, or spiteful.
Nor jealous or guilt-ridden.
Simply powerful. A howling
that is much more triumphant
than tyranical.
A cold that speaks not of barren
tundras, shivering bodies,
but of an awakening. An urging.
Seize it. For the cold too, will pass.