A WINTER NIGHT IN JUTLAND (© Words by Paul F. Cowlan)

The Twins flip Jupiter across the polished sky.
He gleams there, momentarily, on Castor’s foot.
Orion, in a cloudy chiton, leaning back,
presses his dogs to earth to make place for the Bull.
Taurus is rising with the moon between his horns.
The irreproachable moon, powdering her face with frost.

All the cropped fields and shallow valleys,
squat houses and crouching trees
are stiff and white,
stopped stark in their places,
ducked down and hoping she’ll pass them over.

But the moon is in no hurry.
She has snow showers in her pocket,
The Bull of Heaven bears her up among the stars,
and she shakes out the road behind her,
an icy ribbon through the glittering dark.

The hours pass slowly,
the white miles draw out,
and tenderly she guides me northwards,
curbing my tired haste with snow.