December sun sinks below

the worn blue ridge,

drowned asleep by the cold.

The earth pulls ice from the sky,

as winter birds click to each other

shared secrets of weather.

The world is my body, believe me.

Shards of glass fall in front of lamp light,

as if the gods were living

through an accident at dinner.

One of them struck at their walnut

table, knocking over some favorite crystal.

An empty vase. Pieces of stemware.

A starling pushes air through vocal chords,

screaming the sun back into sky.

Crows caw-bark at each other.

Everyone speaks at once.