Crisp with Winter

Sometimes the change of seasons gives a fresh look at old thought.

The pond made a solid step
         toward winter
         last night.
Froze over in the dog wind
         and growl.
Morning cattails still bend
         to the gnash of its teeth.

Inhabitants of this world—earth garden
         have no bent toward the shaded words
         of false dreaming demons.

The pond is crisp with winter.
         This day is true.

                   --ak 12/17/02