AUGUST

JANUARY

The days are short, 

the sun a spark, 

hung thin between 

the dark and dark 

fat snowy footsteps 

track the floor 

and parkas pile up 

near the door 

the river is 

frozen place, 

held still beneath 

the trees black lace 

the sky is low 

the wind is gray 

the radiator 

purrs all day. 

John Updike