Winter’s Day Quartet (2:35 p.m.)


It is winter and I am
Purchasing creamy-orange carnations wearing
Tickle-pink skirts and
Robust stems that crack
As lightning rods as I
Snip their feet from their legs.

Old wine bottles
Give gasp as I
Shove the long needles of
Pond green down their gullets and
The blooms cry,
Fearful of this strange union.

Quiet, the glass stills
The looping water, the stalks
Balance as colonnades, and give

The blooms,
Sit tenderly on their new pedestal,
Getting a feel for the
View; trepid they look about—

But ah! No more fear!
In an engulfing
Of an eagle’s wing
They shiver and reach;

Kindly they sing
For the window, grinning in the cascade
Of flaxen and warmth.

I too lean forward,
And give love to the winter sun.

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