UNDER A THATCHED ROOF
With leaner hands I clutch December's sky
who held the barefist branch through wind and ice
in younger days. The breath of frost is gone,
my eyes no longer sting. Warmed by the sun,
my heart at last has thawed and finds a peace
it never knew before when storms raged free.
Soft the fingering fronds would teach me how
to seed my winter in a tropic ground
and save my years from being cut in two—
they sway before the wind with ease, they bow—
and yet I can not loose my hold, I blink,
I fear to lie in a hammock and swing.