Breathing in the Winter Morning
The morning
Is soft breath
And lungs full
Of night, dark
Respirations, rhythm
Pulsing dreams that
Float in the first winds.
Escaping, dissipating.
Replaced by winter's
Cold reality.
The morning
Is soft breath.
Clouds of silence
Under the last moon.
Exhalation becomes condensation
Falling to join the frosted dew.
Crunching underfoot, each step
Shattering winter's sheen,
The shards flashing in
Ebbing moonlight.
The morning
Is soft breath.
Stillness imbued with
Dawn light, a hopeful
Return, as darkness, then cold
Lifts, and the first tendrils
Of horizon sun, wrap around
Gentle suspiration and
Winter lessens its grip
Breath by breath.
