yes, dearest (my winter solstice)

when the livid hairs are whipped from the dandilions head,
what does the wind wish for when she breathes them in?

yes, you.

you want their feathers in your hair, for the
day to be rescued from wilt, as winter did the dream
catcher weaved from the spider chrysanthemums.

they circled your neck those cell chilling cinders of
hope from that tired hollow gaze that wrapped
sealed over skin like so much burning gauze
from the reflection of an empty picture frame.

yes, you.

you are my hearthstone center, when the snow
keeps it's sigil reign over tree, sky, and shelter.
when I hear faintly a warm tone in a hollow
torrent gail and storm these hard walls that keep the
frost's mouth out but my weakened breath in,
when the days drag on
and the solstice stares you icy in the face,
I know what you wish for.

yes, dearest. I do.