Courtney Cook

Seasons

After the rage of summer heat,
the jade leaves wither
in old age as we do, flutter down from
their world into ours.

How we must change with the seasons.

The cold air swirls in through
the cedars like sighs, so we bundle
our delicate skin in yarn,
layer ourselves in cotton
and turn to wine

to soothe our chapped lips,
pleading for warmth to return.
But we know all too well it’s buried

inside caverns where mauve foxes sleep,
bears suckling their mother’s breast
until they wake by the blooming lilacs,

until we wake with the bulbs.