It is cold here
Here there and everywhere
It seems a time
Of reflection of gathering
Of friends and things
Of moving inward and
Away from the outside
Winter has a way
Of reminding me that
The warmest place of
All is my heart
Come friends sit near
And let our hearts
Warm each and everyone
The storm came through
Like a drunken step-dad
Chilling everyone it spied
Cowering and huddled away
From windows and doors
Waiting for the torrent
To pass staying calm
And now as storms
Often do it’s sunny
The lid of clouds
Removed and what little
Heat that remained escapes
Like the aroma of
My grandmother’s chicken soup
Taken off the boil
I dreamt last night
Of dying me specifically
It alarmed me to
The point of waking
I myself am not
Yet dying but a
Part of me is
And that I’m certain
Whichever part it is
Is no longer needed
Soon to be abandoned
Like a kerchief after
A cold like a
Tear once upon laughter
And perhaps an overcoat
Once my spring arrives
Oh I wish that
I could but no
That like so many
Other things won’t be
They all were once
Then and back there
But here and now
Things are definitely different
So goes ones life
No more permanent as
The sand which skitters
And blows stopping here
For a while creating
Dunes upon which to
Climb and declare owned
That is until tomorrow
When time’s wind’s flatten
It into a beach
The eastern Rockies sky
Looks like its west
A cloud bank stretches
From pane to pane
Atop which hovers delicately
Foamy white like icing
A few loose strands
Like almost invisible threads
Or perhaps even lint
Or shedded dog hair
Comes and goes as
Quickly and with little
Desire of staying like
Visitors to a hospital
And now as the
Sun makes its appearance
Low and deep all
Of it turns crimson
On this the twenty-first
Of December in Denver
HARLAN DIDRICKSON 