Night's crazed, broken teeth
are plucked and scattered,
haphazardly bleeding
along the shadowed edges--
so fine a light
can be spun through the eye
of a needle, can knit the air
into cold and foreign patterns,
thread dyed blue and distant
with bated breath,
can reveal a tapestry of giants'
moss-slate fingers reaching
to find a quilt against the cold,
my flickering children find new mothers
in Wind and Frost,
close their burning eyes
and succumb to sleep. |