Here's another winter one.
This one's called "Resolve."
I like the autumn, but I seem to get more done in the winter.
Juncos are a kind of winter bird around me.
They stay around in the snow, and they're in this poem.
"Resolve
The day comes when the bird feeder stands empty,
and the fattened junco settles into feathers
on the branch, when no dog, either young or old will bark,
and kettles hold their breath.
The morning arrives when there's no light, when the blankets are
lead, and vampires, call them work
or the mundane in our lives, guard the ways out.
When I've considered the clock on my shelf,
or in my gut, flinched one more time,
then marked finished to the claims of infant and parent.
Let the sky close, I think.
Were I my own, were I so like the poor, I atone for the sins
I couldn't commit and my resolve of itself softens."