The Cold Earth Slept Below

(After Percy Bysshe Shelly)

The night sheds slowly.
The sluggish moon disappears

with no promises.
The birds perch somewhere songless

on bare branches
with roots bound

by frost that nestles
in the cracks.

February’s bitter breath
rises now to touch the tips

of your lips. I watch
you rest. I am still lost

in the blackened hedges
of a sleepless season.

Our bodies buried in the drifts
of the down comforter.

Your exhalation a gentle current –
An offering of warmth.

Victoria Nordlund’s poetry collection Wine-Dark Sea was published by Main Street Rag in 2020. She is a Best of the Net and Pushcart Prize Nominee whose work has appeared in PANK Magazine, Rust+Moth, Chestnut Review, Pidgeonholes, Maudlin House, and elsewhere. Visit her at VictoriaNordlund.com