Scratching at the gray soiled sky
Impossible to get clean.
It’s hard to get out of bed when it’s cold.
Splash some water on your face,
Run barefoot across the frost
To fetch a package from the mailbox.
A shot of bourbon just before you shave.
November mornings don’t fuck around.
They wait for no stragglers.
Get your boots laced,
Choose a bold tie,
Pick a proper face.
But the deer find a way to disappear
Even in the stripped down
Skeletonized winter wood.
Use what you have;
This broken stick is a wand.
The sky will clear, the sun will come.
Just be patient, just wait.
The haze will burn away.
Soon, arthritic knuckled branches will be flush
Again in green leaves and white blossoms.
When the wind hisses and pierces
Be the one who laughed
While everyone else scoured and scrubbed
A perfectly clean glass.
And that may be enough.
If anyone asks
You'll say it's just witchcraft.
11/22/20
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