Dear December,
       

A billion flakes of silence—

rice in the wedding of sky.
I shatter the mirrored pond of ice

where air stings and husky toads
sleep under the weight of it all.

I miss them and the bull snakes
touring the land, the land where

the sea green chair becomes
a lost temple in the sun

among waves of snowdrifts.
The yucca are frozen

anemone. The sage, owl skulls.
Junipers are thickened

with flickers, pear trees stripped
to skeletons, their fingers

pointing in all directions.

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Copyright © 2021 Mary Morris All rights reserved
from Dear October
Texas Review Press
Reprinted by Verse Daily® with permission