serotiny
a new month brings
hesitation of expectation:
maybe this is better than
a new year but still these
divisions of the sun are
illusory, as only the earth
spinning around & around
is real & the sun however
close or far drives life despite
our destructive mercies no
matter how tender & so we
mark the length of days &
count & count & wait for
February's shadow to unfurl
before the fattening of penance
announces the lions & lambs
& isn't it enough to hunker
in the dark drinking whisky
& listening to pine cones
crack near the flames of desire