Back from the mailbox, each raindrop
prisms on my glasses, refracting
the gray afternoon into wild jewels
more valuable than gold.
The rocker awaits in the corner
by the fire. I pour tea from the cobalt pot,
watch the trailing comet of cream
follow the spoon. In my hand,
the Christmas card, a red bird against
a stark background of snow.
Words of love blossom silently
on this dark mid-December Tuesday,
the gently sleeping promise of spring
warm in its bed beneath my ribs.
Photograph Courtesy: MJ © All Rights Reserved