day lost night (a sparrow's song)

i will warm to old man winter
like everything i asked you to be
piling endless cords of wood
in straight and perfect rows
with a deep and dark
furrow upon my brow.

later,
i will eat dried and sugared fruits
by a windowpane
in the night watches
with an irreverent stillness
that lingers by my aging side
like the vanity of our youth
as the fervor of my childhood.

still,
i will abide a lost and golden melody
by a fire mine own hands hath made
as it delivers a warmth that i can barely feel
caught up with the spell, a sparrow's song
of parley and murder and wine
lyrics that burn intensely
that this pale orange glow belies

so,
i will cry out with the sunrise
to capture that heart of the dark
render a song of the sparrow
live the rest of my life as the sum of this part
that was here cast for me
beneath the veil of fire and rhythm
an opus of lovers,
a right of the wrongs we have done

because
we too will die with the father of winters
as all men are asked to do
in a pine box lined with scented satin
and the shadows of yesterday's faces
slowly and gently there to erase
these furrows from my brow.