Tatters of Blue

The gold-kissed blue of summer
has once again paled
and stifled itself in the dingy
grey sweater of winter

The trees have gone
nude, shed their scales
and plumage
as if to show how much
stronger they are than me
in my coat and hat and gloves
and still shaking at the joints
while they stand firm
and dormant, yes–
but steadfast all the same

And I notice
a break in the clouds

Despite itself the blue
sky couldn't help but
peek from its hiding place
to see what it might be missing,
to see if anyone was
actually searching for it

(It's a game we play with it
in Minnesota
for six long months)

Just a patch–
three small holes–
like tatters of blue on concrete
and it has made my afternoon.