these cold days in which
a veces, or, at times,
silence finds my cynicism
overwhelmed, overcome,

and in that wake, wonder.

rise up solstice-child, little me,
lay the grown-up self to rest,

reach out your hands.

( some context: three points of connection )

listening to Rufus *plink* and *plunk*
his way through songs this afternoon
perched on a stool behind the
concrete counter, staring off
into the dusky afternoon's descent

and inwardly so very still, so very

slow sinking into melancholy
as the light leaves the day

it is winter
it is winter
mirrored
into me
and out