Monday, December 14, 2020


There's a graceful 
way, this time of year, 

that the bare branches bend 
with each sharp 
sprig of wind—

or are coaxed 
even more so

by snow's mellow angles
and the permanence 
of evening—

to bow gently 

which may make
you feel like 
letting things be,

and just as I begin
(a little too coincidentally) 

to reexamine 
my usual ploy
to gain pity.