Winter Light

It stays awhile, an unwanted guest,
stark and angular, bright but starved,
light long extinguished like a star.

Square boxes of it linger in the halls,
checkering the pine floors
with coming snow.
Rectangles paint the kitchen stone,
whitening my hands as I halve potatoes
and halve them again.

In the bedroom,
its grassy shadows, its thin gray roots
grow between wooden slats.
They play over his ribs,
breathe when he breathes,
sleep as he sleeps. 
They soak the soil as he turns it up
behind closed eyes.

~