Shifting

My words cover the surfaces
I had wanted to keep clean;
my mind is so much clearer
than my furniture used to be.

To Juhi: This is You

The cold air, bracing, chilling to the bone
frozen fingertips;
the wind crashing against unprotected
windowpanes;
the night like velvet hung with mist
on rings of drew:
This is you.

The warmth of an open fire, glowing radiance;
the reflection of the dancing red-gold
embers
on the walls, on hands faces
shading shapes
shaping shades:
This is you.

Thermostat noses keeping vigil on
northern nights;
dark heads peeping from mountains of
quilts and blankets:
the snuggling close of children and hot tea
steaming faces:
This is you.

The laughing joy of winter, chattering birds
on morning grass;
the snow reflected sun on their small backs
drowsy warm;
the glint of sunlight off the mountain track
blinding eyes:
This is you.