a dual winter

the yearning moon is
aching its way around
the other side of February earth.

in dawn's silver needles,
my gaze is enormous
my slightest movements appetitive...
my root fingers explore the old knots
of Rumi teaching.

making the whole winter a song,
we can pray it to the 
lake sky, joining all those living
in oppression
in our own faint way, real candles
in a long night of unknowing.

here on the edge, competent snow squeezes us still,
my relevance and Big Thoughts
eaten by the space between
sparrow's cluster of voice.

everything that last night's moon
wanted me to receive -
the dull silver light of which I'm tired,
the crazed squirrel leaping full and true on powdered limbs -
is infusing space with a vital breath.

joining it again, we upturn to
the memory of spring sun
and leaving our pine box
right in time.