"Mid-December..."

Mid-December. Insomnia. Dreams don’t come easy.

The clock’s steady meter resounds, -- displeasing.

Lean on the window and listen to the winter’s

Heart-moving symphony.

Warm breath. Shivering lips mark the window,--

A sudden epiphany.

Naked branches sway to the rhythm, -- freezing!

Thus starts a poem. Thus the Muses control us, teasing

With the wind’s wailing. Thus cold fingers

Become anxious to write.

Thus, seducing the soul, the hour-hand lingers

To move any further tonight.