The first day of winter, and it is bright and cold.
If we have to take the dog out, we run right back in
to be near the fire, to feel the fire’s comforting warmth.
The news is filled with all of the reasons
to skip reading the news: fear and selfishness,
ignorance and hate, the ceaseless human tragedy.
Mind is just like the news, it amounts to nothing.
If there is still any interest at all in this mind,
then surely I have yet to truly understand.
The day itself is bright and cold. Some may find
a kind of comfort, even a beauty, in nihilism.
The constructs of mind are endless, hopeless.
I will not fall back on memory. This day
is bright and cold. All night long I kept looking
at the clock, the blurry glowing numbers changing.
I bring in more wood for the fire. It is enough
for now, seasoned oak. The oak in the front yard
remains impassive at the old news, now fit to burn.
This day, today — it’s bright and cold. It’s the first day
of winter. Really, I’ve learned nothing. Still, this fire
keeps going, we huddle together — the whole universe.
For now, for this moment, it is enough. My heart
beats on, quietly, while outside, it is bright and cold.
There is something else, but it is something I can’t say.