Air so cold that it cuts my lungs,
As I walk across the lichen and moss-covered yard,
Passing chickens that are gathered around old bread.
I strike my boots on splintered porch
And knock in rhythm on the door.
The door opens a void of dark
And sunlight flies in
Only to be absorbed by her face
Lips curling into a smile
When she sees me.
The light of her smile
Reflects back blindingly
Filling me with gladness
As I see her in Sunday best
Gray dress becoming wedding gown
In my eyes.
My bones something old
My joy something new
Her scarf something blue.
Sunday mornings bring