THIS TIME OF YEAR walking early out among straight trunks tall eyes up bright points in their usual order where it's cold and soundless through the branches they burn scattered dawn still distant frost sparks in the leaf litter same white as the moon full taking in its whole face our star's splendor and sending back this light that catches on the flakes of frost and flashes up again if I could see my eyes would there be in the moist corners a tiny point reflecting frost's sparkle all the places I've loved and people are within me and I am the distance in which they blur together but the stars I've seen since I first looked up in winter only sharpen their changeless order with time only become it seems more remote and close