Frost
The rough edges of last night's frost remain,
Biting, cold and ragged,
Frigid at my morning window,
Pointed, brusque and jagged.
There's coffee on the back burner,
Sharp and sour left overnight.
Tentative smiles ease the chill,
And soften the harsh kitchen light.
Steam and dreams waft headily
In timid glances over the sugar bowl.
Faded hope thaws along the curb
Of the inroads to my soul.
Cold hearts warm and well
Like snow piled up at our back door,
And love resumes where it left off
When the light flickered out some years before.
* de - february 2000
