February

Now when the briefest, darkest day
And white snow meet,
Comes the month of blow-your-hands
And stamp-your-feet.

A man, watching cold earth follow
Its snowshoe track,
Knows it will never end in fire,
But freeze and crack.

Antlered, angry wind rips through
The throat of night,
Stag-horn sumac hurls at dawn
The running light.

The old herb doctor brews for chills,
And secretly,
From yellow root of sassafras,
The fragrant tea.

Water in Huron Lake turns gray
As a face in pain,
In Mobile Bay the Gulf is blue,
Dark blue the rain.

Mississippi feet are frozen,
But its mouth,
Wide and loud with levee song,
Laughs in the south.