A Winter Centerpiece

The moon is a bowl full of baby’s breath,

The tiniest sprays of pale white.

It sits on a shelf of the winter-bare trees

While shedding the barest of light.

The clouds move in, misty and cold, a haze,

They lead in the King of the North –

They hearken the winter, the ice and the snow

And call for warm coats to come forth.

The chill in the air is a spur to sight –

My mind is now crystallized, sharp.

The flowers are blooming across the night sky,

The darkness brought forth its faint harp.

I melt these distinctions that we insist

Upon, and the sky and the cold

Engrave on the mind all the changes I see –

The flowers and bowls that unfold.