January

BY KENNETH SHERMAN

Pearl grey sky

and this crust of snow

clinging 

to the crevice of the maple.

Nothing new,

no expectations

other than low temps,

ghost breath.

That’s what you can count on

looking out across the field

of snow-flecked thistles

across the river of frozen stones

to where the sober pines watch 

and brood.

When you walk

down the ice-patched gravel road

you hear the wind through the trees.

Hollowing. 

Then there’s the recurrent 

dream, the one where you

pass the glassed-in winter garden 

overrun with flowers

waxy, white, 

perfect and untended, 

growing 

where no humans stand. 

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KENNETH SHERMAN has published ten collections of poetry, including Jogging with the Great Ray Charles (ECW Press). His memoir Wait Time was nominated for the 2017 RBC Taylor nonfiction prize. He resides in Toronto and conducts poetry writing workshops via Zoom.