Winter Chorus

The ice-toads crept out today.
They live under blue curls of snowdriftt
sing a creaking groaning song.

Their skin glass-
white and lavender,
cold crystal new-sky eyes.

Twenty below out and
the voice of the forest opens.

Those strange creatures
clatter and clack

and breed between the ice-stars
that tiptoe over the pond
like some giant stilted bird.

Girlie

I am just a pencil-stroke
of a cat, an abbreviation
sliding side-ways through
your barn door.
(hesitation marks on the snow,
is it suicide to go in?)
I hear your voice
through the kitchen window.
I call to you
with my throaty voice
I let you see me, but
I erase myself
when you come
too close.