Monday, January 15, 2024


If a life must be such 
that its winter always comes—

and with it, 
the bitter, lonely terminus

of nakedness in 
shadowed cold—

in lieu of prostrating 
and dreaming of June, 

let me end it
noiseless, focused, breathless, 

and standing on my own 
two feet—

just like every naked, fearless 
tree I've ever seen.