January

The days are short, 

The sun a spark, 

Hung thin between 

The dark and dark. 

Fat snowy footsteps 

Track the floor. 

Milk bottles burst 

Outside the door. 

The river is 

A frozen place 

Held still beneath 

The trees of lace. 

The sky is low. 

The wind is gray. 

The radiator 

Purrs all day.

John Updike