(no subject)
It is winter a newborn
opens his wide red mouth
in drop five clusters of snow
from a tree that has
five proud fingers
curling against the sky
up the corners of January
Wide red hands are birds
pulling the cold air
into dark wrinkles
these shadows, they are just ideas
that have lost focus
he shuts his eyes, sees colours
spine against the sun
the snow is bright
and we are young