Hot air expands
cold air contracts,

but this cold snap has
resembled the opposite.

There’s so much space,
now, for the sky to fill–

it pools over the lake
at sunset, over-saturated,

splits the bare tree branches
like a fine-toothed comb.

Nothing about this suggests
recession, even the early nights

wait a little longer, gently
sloping into dusks

of pin-prick stars.
The moon

through the woods
spills rolling shadows,

making an ocean floor
out of the yard,

the freezing point fixing
the landscape

in unusual ways–
smoke rising ceaselessly,

dry evergreens plumb,
all humidity gone

except for the frost
that plates the world

at dawn, the benevolent
glove it now wears.