Middle Winter 
Winter’s first third is a heel.
Crushing colorful leaves.
Surrendering the body
As it slides on black ice.
The holiday is undressed
In the shallow afternoon and dragged
Curbside but its shadow remains
On the wall in the shape of everyone
Who didn’t make it this year.
From the crib of a new moon a rat climbs,
Open-mouthed, teeth full of cheese.
Just above the surface of the earth
An entire house tries to escape
But it has to freeze in a passing
Car’s headlights, then forgets how to walk.
Days into the second third of winter
The moon is a hairless tail.
Entering the atmosphere
Though matter’s not been lost it’s still true
For the first time in 87 years there’s a world
Without my father in it Night knots up
Inside me Stars swim away
Things burn apart entering this place
They slur into small and smaller nothings
Instead of crashing. It saves us here
On the ground some peril the high burning
And provides a light in the shape
Of direction though by rule all
Who try to enter are leaving
Some other place I saw my dad
Die but have no idea what he saw if he
Saw what was beginning or if
Nothing begins and so
Are not seen by any eye.