Solstice is near and an owl

sees everything that moves.

The deer graze so slowly

through the deep snow.

Coming in my direction.

I do not breathe.

A giant bird flies the path 

of a red and white arrow

and crosses the road.

We are thinking of the

twenty children tonight.

A cradle hangs above the trees,

a milky, white, crescent moon

moist with clouds.

I know what I see and I see

the unrocked moon 

which I cannot reach

to comfort.