The love you hold in your hand hold on to, for just a moment, add to it the nectar dewdrops of dawn, warm its quivering shoulders with the shawl of the morning light, round out prickly edges with the peaking tides of the full-orbed moon —
Only then afterwards may you open the lotus hand, unravel the fragrance of pink petals, caress the breath-light feathers, watch the wings soar skybound towards sun and shadow, beyond the green and blue.
Winter alighted this morning without warning: a swan, snow-capped amidst the green river bulrushes, the garrulous cicadas have gone mute with the frogs, the buzz of ebony bees, no more fireworks of lightning, nor heart-pounding thunder, there is only silence palpable as ivory snow-bound clouds —
Take my hand, smitten by December winds, warm my fingers with the hearth fires of hours together spent, when tears overflowed the jars of laughter, and the laughter drowned the tears, the letting go yet never forsaking, when we believed in the loyal light of day and dreamt through the darkest, elongated nights —
Winter alighted this cold morning without warning — take my hand, smitten by December winds.