this winter sun swings
frail and tentative in january's
palm like a retired violinist
holding his breath as he dares
to play a note quivering
in arthritic fingers.
the thin light runs off me without
seeping into my cold blood as i
bask limply behind the window,
watching the hours shrivel.
my chapped lips cracked
with the fake smile i extended
to you like a handshake with
plastic congratulations.
i didn't want you to go.
reptilian, i lurk without a sense
of softness, scales winking
and teeth clasped together.
patiently i wait
for the day to grow thick and
full, warm me and un-clot
me; but december drags,
claws hooked into my skin,
and february prowls ahead.
maybe this is what adam felt
when god took his rib.