HEAR NOW
Snow is God's fertile fodder.
It is excessively radiant,
excessively weightless as is
our soul's sweet dawning. He
is a meditation murmuring upon
wine-stained lips, a slur of light
slung in the sea's deep belly
and loosely string, loosely wild
like far-fetched fruitful stars.
Let's lean with the lean light
that longs to lengthen toward
the solstice season. This is when
there chimes December wind chimes
whose restless tones marry those
of our souls which are a messy,
massive glory. See how we drag them
behind us like resplendent tail feathers.
Hear now the high lyrics of the season
which isn't spring, summer, fall
or winter wherein the warbling notes
fly like birds—gently o so gently
we can surrender unto being the rosy
breasts blooms of music rest upon
while we breathe the liqueur of
honey-heavy, heart-melting air.
--Elizabeth Kirschner
