December Moon

The silver line
caresses snow and kisses
what the cold wind blows.
Night falls over the blanket
of cold,
like a blanket.

She watches all
that occurs below,
the shift of paw-prints in her snow
and where
the December wind blows
she knows.

I fall under her,
this December moon.
Mother of all babes wild,
the drifting wind
and howling wolf.
She sits in her sky
watching her snow...

She is the mother of winter
and pain.
My December moon...