What Happens Next

What Happens Next

Another night with the frost,
she says, and you’ll know

the half-life of cold.
Which is not to say enjoy,

or pity, or pretend.
It is the sheath of God’s

gaze, an unsuspected lump.
The harvested curse.

You grasp what happens next.


14 thoughts on “What Happens Next

  1. Every year at this moment (today is unequivocally winter where I am) the same sense of never having *left* this season — of only having been granted a six-month reprieve from an eternally gestating absence. The why of it is right here.

    Liked by 1 person

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