IN EARLY WINTER

I was feeling down
about the state of my life
when I read an Oliver poem
about barely breathing and thinking
you were alive...
So I went out naked into
a winter's grouse of wolf-wind
and raised my arms up silently
towards the silent moon
and all the stars that praised you
and surrendered open again
as the wind whirlabouted
to bristle my hair and prickle my skin.
Then I turned back indoors
to my cluttered little workshop
which was suddenly a warm and welcome nest,
and brimming with thankfulness
knew I was alive.