{poem} january

the day wakens with a shudder
a chill articulating down its spine

this is the way it should be
in january
bitter
     tightly hung
          soundless

yet lately
january has been fickle
waffling between hot and cold
light and dark
real and unreal

i see its trail most clearly
on the lake

ebbing and flowing
like waves on the shore
the waxy water freezes
and then
thaws upon itself
in a sort of maniacal waltz
performed on command

not unlike myself
     some
          days
a vertiginous dervish
hell bent on accomplishing
     some
          thing

any
    thing



and then there is the frost
that so delicately encases its prey
with whisps of crystallized fancy
and jewel like joy

sometimes I wish I was laced with frost
so that
when I woke
I
too
could stand in the field
arms outstretched
pulling in fast all that is alive and quickening
and
when I turned just so
I could make the sun explode
into a million rapturous beads
hanging from my neck
and
     wrists
          and
               ankles