A Birthday in January

Your birthday came upon us as a warm outpost, long awaited, on a long hike
A beacon in our night,
Like the pooling of lamplight or a ship breaking ice

We feasted on cheap sugar, and you opened presents, to celebrate life
Toasting the beauty of you, with sparkling juice, at ten years old

Your mom and I were like a man and woman wandering out into the winter but staying close enough to home, for fear of cold, our bones already worn
But you are rising, as newly born, like a white pink morning after a storm
And you will soon break into the spring of everything
Your song coming as easily as breathing

More and more we ready ourselves by looking ahead,
And find ourselves grateful for any delay, like the breaking of birthday cupcakes, as holy bread

After the party, all five of us braved the cold;
We walked the dark meadow and made of it a museum ramble, after hours
Gawking at the silhouetted trees, covered in kudzu—
A tyrannosaur or dragon beast—
And your brother roared (but quietly, after our warning—for the hour and for our neighbors)

So we honored the silence of the night
Because sound travels so far on the cold,
And sometimes we don't want to make ourselves too big a thing
In quiet, silence, and small postures, we seem to bring the stars closer
And there is a comfort in being overwhelmed in awe
The better to hold close our hands and cling to one another,
Our little tribe

We fidgeted our fingers at the first line of snow,
Aligning our boots with our breath
Then we stepped onto the chaffs of wintered wheat, stripped at harvest
Thinking of how all was full in the spring
And, miracle: will be just so again

The world may not see hidden love which words cannot hope to name
But we are rehearsing resurrection all the same
We are pressing in, daily,
Just as we practice, always, whether we know it or not
The endless letting go