The first fierce wind
and we whimper, dreading
the cold. We’re so hidden
by armor ( wool is the new steel,)
that nobody knows.
No man is an island
except in winter when footprints
are covered by snow so fast
that even Hansel and Gretel
We huddle in the blizzard,
leafing through Burpee’s new seed
catalog and dreaming of spring.
It keeps us from barbarism, allowing
momentarily the survival of civility.
Even as innocents
we know that all weather
is allegorical. Fogged in
without a reflection, with nothing
we believe that prayers
and poetry will keep us from harm.
As the first star of night twinkles
through the dark, we know
that what we believe is right.