Winter

In winter, words freeze.
They hang like little icicles in the mind
and gather into snowdrifts somewhere deep in the heart.

You can’t really speak such things.

You either melt them slowly with mulled wine
and let them flow out through your tear ducts,
or you start hurling them at people —
until you shake the common sense right out of them.

No, better to pull a pair of warm socks over your head,
hide under a blanket,
and wait for spring.

Soon everything will thaw on its own.
Words will trickle out like streams,
breathing fresh air again.
New thoughts will sprout,
dreams will turn green.

Yes, yes — in the cold,
some people’s dreaming apparatus freezes up.
And without it, as it turns out,
you can’t get very far.

So we wait for spring
and drink mulled wine.