Come Through

you feel it the way we want and are

heavy on the branches with snow

falling through the glass cold seeps

in an invisible river flows over

you collected as condensate

concentrated whether looking out or

turning in white robes the trees as

monks fold themselves down to one

vast with Winter we whisper visibly

moved and you huddled this side

with us behind falling sensate

where blocks of feet slow

standing at first with bowed heads

hands gathered fingers as if in prayer

deep in thought perhaps machines hum

hidden ushers guide the idea of heat

channels flow along the past

corridors a temperate season water

unhinged from the loss by degrees

remains fluid as in our bodies

chilled and slow white above by 

inference the furnace churns

turning bends of dark directions

by motion from first thought

of color to how it is free to gaze

outward for more less survival

to what we wanted of you all along

the window you feel it come through

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