Early January

These are the days
Romans assigned to Janus
— God with two faces
Looking fore and aft.

Outside, bare branches look
Like trees upended,
Dusty roots in air,
Their summer wings
Buried in earth.
Birds that survived the freeze
Go languidly
With broken crumbs of speech.
Rivers go sullenly,
Swollen, with much in mind,
Little to utter.
The interval between
Opening and closing curtains
Seems scarcely to matter.
Darkness and cold rule jointly
King and queen.

I hardly care.
It is an undemanding time:
Where hope ceases to pester, and regret
Leaves hands unwrung.
For these few Janus days
It is permissible
Just to exist.