Window Light

It was a moment of walking when
the light changed,
glowed,
abolished all notion of chill from the wind
and
smiled out from windows like
gloves onto hands.

Fractured by the lines of
spindly branches,
leafless,
the light lifted the world into
a moment of fantasy,
a drifted painted world,
a world asleep in its vibrance,
a world patient in its anachronism.

Walking, we
witnessed this moment,
shuttered up in our coats and gloves like
seals in fat;
we basked briefly in the small sun
of that window-light

and walked on.

©K Paige Medina 24 February 2017

The Wolves

Where do the wolves go
when their night feet have wandered
through dreams and through shadows,
spilled the milk of the moon into
pools of light on window sills?
Have they spoken their prayers,
their curses and sympathies
into the ears of wild children
before they are gone?
Whose wolf eyes water at
the coming of dawn;
some mournful sound lingering
to draw out the night
and to keep at bay the clamor of bells
the noise and the rustling of
so many human clothes?

I once had been known
to abandon my bed and I saw them,
their backs thin like shadows
or the air under snow,
and I think they have seen me
and recognized
for they have not returned–
my gaze must have caged them,
held them like sinners
beneath the bristling cold of their wiry moon.

©K Paige Medina 02 January 2017