Copihue Poetry

Icy droplets against off-whites
bead along the maple’s slender
branches.

                         Bird-shapes
among the dry-brown
azalea twitch and hop.
             

             You bustle and shuffle
             as I try to be still—

                                       small irritations
             many times a day. Warmth
             pushes

                                       through the ducts.

We wear soft layers, stay
inside mostly.
                         I ask
my love for you often.
 

             The droplets shimmer
             glass-clear in low light.