Growth Rings

It is always a wind from the west
that rattles the branches of my body
awake in the evenings of no warning.

I shake against myself now.
Words walk around in my head
like a wanderer on the crackling shores
of a quickly frozen pond—
exercise, flexing her muscles
in the dark music of winter.

I can’t help but howl into the black
sky igniting sparks of rage—
my voice,
my strong will like stars
twinkling and unashamed to shine.

These flight patterns of the universe
make time a distance I need not measure
into cups of fire
and promises or water.

Instead I must only look inside myself
to find growth rings huddled tightly
against the cold.
Marks of survival
adding strength and flexing easily
against the gusts of impossible November.