WEBVTT

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Here's another winter one.

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This one's called "Resolve."

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I like the autumn, but I seem
to get more done in the winter.

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Juncos are a kind of
winter bird around me.

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They stay around in the snow,
and they're in this poem.

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"Resolve

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The day comes when the
bird feeder stands empty,

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and the fattened junco
settles into feathers

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on the branch, when no dog,
either young or old will bark,

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and kettles hold their breath.

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The morning arrives when there's
no light, when the blankets are

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lead, and vampires,
call them work

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or the mundane in our
lives, guard the ways out.

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When I've considered
the clock on my shelf,

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or in my gut, flinched
one more time,

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then marked finished to the
claims of infant and parent.

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Let the sky close, I think.

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Were I my own, were I so like
the poor, I atone for the sins

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I couldn't commit and my
resolve of itself softens."

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