Winter Song

by Oliver Hunter

steps of winter

circular into veins they sprang

inconclusive with the dawn

in canto, sung

lara–le lara–le

Held and drawn out to a point

that falls across the fields outside

and raises steps

one–two, one–two

circles of sky closing

on the form of the leaf–pile

the shape of the wind

what is the step across the field?

who knows its pace?

Birds fly in sacred geometries

following the tails of serpents

who bite their own tails

sun–golden, plaid about the throat

And promise to return as they

spin around again

But now they go, and leave swallow–trails

and snow clouds across the

topmost tree–fingers, blackened by cold and

miles and miles of air