Still Sounds of Winter

All the senses have existed 
. . . in my imagination. 
                                    Helen Keller 

Waking from my loud dream 
I hear only what is here: 
the cornered stars rattling in glass 
and the slow roll of a drumhead moon. 

The bare birds hunching icily 
where the firethorn glares, 
and the sunken spiritless flares 
of eyes soliciting a star, a sun. 

The brittle shade of a tree gone gray, 
placed like a thin hand 
on the stopping snow, and on 
the abject loss of grass below. 

The ringing quiet of a wind chime 
broken since last spring; but here, 
comforting and near, like all 
stillness locked in a spare room. 

Now, the real and ritual howl 
of some wintering thing: wolf or cat. 
But for my breath and a click of light, 
the sound most still in the sensual night.