Middle Winter [1]

1.

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.