IT’S WINTER THE GODS LOVE
high and wind-swept
where rivers begin and snow
whirls like Sarasvati circling
Brahma, his lust
growing five faces
to keep ten eyes on her
but that comes after mountains
moon, sun, an ocean of stars
after darkness and light differ
in winter, the gods shed headgear
and garlands, sandals and spears, limbs
and vendettas—they shed names
honed to weightlessness, they flare
and drift, rise, buckle, fold—explode
from a hierarchical operatic cast
the thinned weave of their turning
sparkles and floats—holds a delta’s silt
lifts with snow geese, falls on peaks
darkness in winter nights
ruthlessly itself—in winter days
light frayed through ice crystals
dogs the sun
before collecting again
in moon’s gaze
in winter, the gods make do
without mirrors—nothing to fog
with breath or wink back, and spin
out of bounds, infatuated
again desiring manifold
relinquished parts
Author’s Bio
JANE MUNRO’s sixth poetry collection, Blue Sonoma (Brick Books) won the 2015 Griffin Poetry Prize. Her previous books include Active Pass (Pedlar Press) and Point No Point (McClelland & Stewart). She lives in Vancouver.