Dark river reflects dark sky,
brittle ice left by low tide crusts
the shore. Silent ducks take off

into swirling snow — a flash
of white underbelly.
I wonder who they are.

I follow tracks I can’t recognize
from tree to tree, losing my own.
No wonder winter is quiet,

there are no leaves left, only
stiff evergreen and naked brush.
I look up through tall thin pines —

snowflakes and darkness gather
on my cheeks. If there is a God,
he’s in the trees.