for Mark Cronk

Find rhythm in winter:
Lean into brumal wind,
long afternoon shadows.
Doze in early darkness
after a cup of warm cider,
cigar and candle light –
a symphony you’ve been

meaning to really hear.
Wake to austere and distant
sun on brown grass covered
with frost, ageless cedars
with graying blue berries,
bare limbs of cottonwoods,
an owl perched high above

stubborn leaves tan and torn
but clinging to the oaks,
low-flying geese, crows.
Solitude, books, melodies
around you, inside you,
stories half-remembered
coming into focus, old

friends, familial gossip.
Forget the chores. Think
of nothing but what comes
to you, passes through you.
Pray to those gone before,
for the overcharged or falsely
accused. Pray for peace.

Escape hype that consumes.
Become a dream. Be
nothing but dry leaves piled
on the path to your heart.
Don’t fret the loss of color.
It’s only a matter of light –
a flickering flame.

Ken Hada
12/16/17