How beautifully the month of December descends. Softly and gradually,
it begins by
floating down morning dew drops,
dropping down afternoon clouds of mist,
misting the evening nights with pale moonlight glitter,
glitter against the pavement chalked: “rigged”
Then proceeds to this present winter: the first December spent away from home and how familiarly these events carry forth.
But now several things are different; now you know,
carrying on, to appreciate the brief second of warmth conferred when running against the puffs of air billowing out from (the recoil of the lungs, the relaxing of the diaphragm, the movement of air out the trachea, the pinching of the lips and finally out it comes, through) the o that then fans out against your cheeks / appreciate huddled body warmth / appreciate the clear skies and appearance of fresh faced-smiles unmasked by umbrellas, un-squinted, un-ducked / the rain slicks the cobblestone streets here with something beautiful, something magical, but proceed with caution with non-gripped shoes or heels — aim for the ridges / do not overdo caution, it is not yet the new year, after all / and finally, think, read, think, then write.
