Winter

Winter

wrap your arms around me

and smother me in a blanket of nothingness.

It is time for me to sleep,

to recoil into the woodgrain like the curve of a fingerprint,

to hide in the swallows beak until the evening of spring.

My bones are not my bones.

My body is not my own.

I belong completely to you.

In your branches I will wait,

a whisper of green,

and blossom until I am reborn.