Halves

This morning in the half-light of a heavy
fog, the trees all dripped with chunks of ice.
Half-liquid limpid hemispheres, each one
reflecting pale sunlight at its heart
like light-bulb yolks encased in eggs of glass.
They fell from naked birches and from boughs
of cedar hanging green and dense, to dot
the sidewalk with fragmented brilliance.

And this half-aqueous illumination
tiny truncate icicles of light
these garlands for these winter-wedded trees
entwine me now in promises half-kept
in overcast half-melted into blue
in winter poised just half a breath from spring.

Collection available! Knocking from Inside