i'll show you

⤂COME,JANUARY⤃

Come, January

white and silver; ring

silent, as thrushes

cling to the stone

knuckles of the old

elm's hand too stiffened

to bend. Harden Fall's

stream to a window

on bedrock-soled veins

below, where tremors

of the distant hills'

running rains dwindle

turn from the hope

born of yellow-basked,

red-breasted mornings;

with one clouded eye

torn toward my door,

come in January,

to my undisturbed path.