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.