Under the snow

Everything that breathes wild,
sleeps;
the roaring given over to the wind,
screaming through the trees
that were sanctuary.
Even the fairytale stars, inherently kind, 
appear cruel, burning only frost light
through the black lake of sky.

I am unwanted by the outside;
winter hunts the human.
Everything healing is 
under the snow, 
with patient claws.
So I must, too, let sadness, want and 
not-understanding roam;
whirling with snowflakes, dirt and everything
Earth has to say right now;
while I find the creature,
the candle 
the deep, deep dream
that will emerge
when the time of the anti-sun is over - 
read her stories of wolves and
warm star-bears -
she will need them in the thawing.

C. LJ Ireton, 2024