After the Solstice
Chest deep in fresh powder,
clusters of deer eat the tips
of Summer’s golden grasses,
not waving now. Patient. Roots
sleeping deep under three feet
of snow. Heart-shaped tracks
stitch a trail from hills to house.
Nothing here to threaten them.
Even the dog, who barks in place
like a windup toy, barely stops
their thoughtful chewing. She who
snores undignified upon the chintz
chair placed–just so–for this.
Dark-eyed Juncos flit and feed
on scattered millet. Their tiny
formal morning coats and black caps,
their silver waistcoats stretched
over rounded breasts and bellies.
We all fatten in the early dark. Pillowed
and insulated by layers of crystals.
Precious, rare, one of a kind, merged
into this one body, undulate, frozen,
shimmering in the lengthening light.
subhaga crystal bacon 