On the Anniversary of a Winter Departure

Still ice. Still Jupiter wooing. Still creamy
liquid blouse on hanger with decurved
shoulders. Still holiday parties, the Bible’s
three seeds: pistachio, walnut and almond.
Two box fans still not put away. And still
the neighbor’s wild rabbits hopping into
the same hole. This year’s accounting: vista
of bristlecone pines, an orangery, glass flowers
forever in bloom. Lessened is the temptation
to debone self, give way. Come night:
tracing path of moonlight and thinking
only of moonlight.