blue hour

if i can pour silence in a cup

i would like to drink it at night

not as warm maple tea

but cold as winter ice wine

not too sweet or spicy

to run down my throat to ignite

excitement or astonishment

but rather

the familiar hug of an old 

friend, that knows the hollows

& turns of my seasons 

& times when i need

to see the starlights and  

the new moon instead of

full-bodied white wintered sky-

what space i have drawn

is briefly magical as blooming

pink peonies

in between frames, 

i am unemcumbered by the weights

& stresses of the day

i get lost in the maze & snarls of words

-coaxing lines muddled with black birds-

as i inhale the crisp smell of pine trees

alas, the noise of the house

clatters & hums as the clock

steals away an hour & marks it:

(false) spring! 

Posted for dVerse Poets Pub - Poetry of Place and Space, hosted by Ingrid.  Thank you Ingrid!!!     There are references of the city and country where I have now resided for 18 years.   We have a long winter season.