December Metamorphosis

And the day dawns by not dawning

And gray light suffuses the world

Through the dampening drops.

Their humid tatoo beats the retreat

As through the preternaturally warm

December morning I travel home.



But while I sleep,

The gray is washed away

And the clouds bleached

By whitening sunlight.



And when I awake the sun, like a ray of 
gold,

Lances its cruel, cold radience through 
my window

And awakens me with the chilly air from

The border of the polar sea, its icy 
breath

Enters my nose and mouth giving me cause

To futily clutch the kicked-off 
comforter.



I retreat from sleep

To warmer rooms, 

To ruminate upon a day

So strangely metamorphed.


       ©December 7, 1996