Tuesday, January 23, 2024

CLEMENCY

In the frosted gloom again
at the knife-edge 
of freezing, 

when even the rain 
is starting to rain—
and where 

even the shadows 
will not follow
where you're walking—

the usual tingle 
at the base 
of your neck 

feels less like 
the shiver 
you remember from before 

and more like 
a portent that, 
despite your nonacceptance—

and to your 
grim displeasure—
somewhere far 

away from here,
even as we speak, you're 
being prayed for.