Winter Blues

Maybe it was just the Winter,

                     seeping through my bones

                     into my heart,

the grasp of its icy hands

                              against my bare neck.

But then I woke up in June,

                        sunlight bathing me in dawn,

            and as the warmth

            bled into the breeze,

                              I bled sorrow,

                     staining the earth 

underneath blooming branches.

                   I now long in unknowing silence

              for Winter’s return,

   dream of the cold

               cloaking the sadness

                             in thick quilts and jackets.

Now, in times of golden rays,

                 when days grow long and bright,

I still find no place

for the weight of my grief

                   when it’s too warm

                              to wear over my shoulders.