Winter Fast
In midwinter
the silence is deep calling on deep;
A footprint or footfall unheard;
The hidden root of springs long forgotten
And yet present in minute potentiality.
It is the biological prototype that holds the secret—
The Word that speaks out of chaos into being;
While a thousand variations on the theme of white and grey
Wait for that first steel shaft of sunlight
To penetrate each layer deeper still.
As Death’s dark angel sheaths his sword.
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