December

I like it best like this
When a frigid blue tinges everything:
The newborn snow that blankets the hinterland
in the middle of December
under an icy moon, pale as a queen in death
but much more ready to come alive again...
When that frosty cerulean, its tint like a steely iris--
never wavering or flinching--
lies like a cobweb over the untouched tundra,
and tiny crystals grip the brittle needles of the pines
while the fallen snowflakes from clouds on the sharp horizon
press the branches groundward;
When the kniving gusts are still miles away,
and haven't yet disturbed the pristinity of it.
I wish I could stay here forever--
never having to search to find this cold beauty--
never needing to flee from the heat that so sears me--
never wanting for someplace to sit
and just...

watch.. . . .