Sonnet for the Nones of January
Sun takes a shortcut along his south road,
creating cold days of brisk, clean, clear air,
while shadows come only from geese in flight
and pines overhanging the trout’s abode.
Beneath snow, earth holds a matrix of frost:
pale, spreading hands of crystalline fingers
directing energy so none is lost,
stored where botanic memory lingers.
Noontide wakes chatter from eager sparrows,
gathered to their chiefs on an ivied eave,
to make report on beaver, hawk, and crow —
who gather on a farmer’s bare furrows.
Above, all stars in winter patterns weave,
mirroring motions of robins below.