Midwinter hours
poem
It runs away from time,
The afternoon, the sun
Buried in itself. It runs away from you
And the dark comes before you think,
Balanced on a paper star — in nights clear
Or lavender and red, snow spiralling
Time winds itself away, slips through
Fast-frozen hands, is crushed into the ground
And smells of evergreen.
“Time winds itself away, slips through / fast-frozen hands, is crushed into the ground / and smells of evergreen.” That’s very much how I feel about this time of year, and so wonderfully described!