winter light

there is something peculiar in the winter light;
so short and so precious, this pure dash of blue and white ,
so unerringly bearable by the eye ,

I secretly wish it washes pure all the exertions from past falling,
the hard labour of falling into a sleepy winter night ,
not so easy to do in the end to skin off the summer heat and to wrinkle to winter

and then finally this pure light comes in and like an aseptic lazer it seems to want to
clear off the warm nights under the duvets and the effort of hiding inside them

and a new brisky warmth comes along and makes you glow in these still short days 

where noon looks like a sunset and the light gold trickles everywhere and drips out of the stones and the asphalt 

short blinks of the eyes to stir to the fake heat of this sun , a moment more and it will be spring 

even in the ice of the concrete springs seems to remember her dates