Taking the dog out on a January morning

Deer at the woods edge - Mark Hearld Taking the dog out on a January morning wine-dark air burns with cold, the Moon is a blade pressed to my throat, smell of woodsmoke promises warmth, swift-footed we race back to our hearth as rosy-fingered Dawn stretches, arms out long, and yanks back the covers from the night-quilted Sun. Hounds in the Snow - Mark Hearld Every self-respecting poet should have…