January Moon

Like an old man
Cold in his husk of flesh,
January’s moon
Shrinks in the waning darkness.
Is it the way of the world
That each of us gets smaller, smaller,
In the end to be devoured by night
Until just the thinnest crescent
Is left amid a universe of stars?
If we, too, lose our light
For a time,
Perhaps something like snow
Will come
To multiply our brightness.
In the long winter nights,
The owlish creatures, the early walkers,
May wait for us--
Wait for us with seasoned patience--
To fill the sky again
In a new and radiant fullness.
 
--Timothy Haut, 2007