Friday, October 29, 2010

Verse: A winter poem for @gilesmarie

first is the frost
a shroud
of stars
that falls upon
fallow earth
without so much
as any wish
to hold on to
and then
the bare trees
slip into
their coats
thick and white
like whipped cream
its wonderful
when it
is new
when the clouds
are mackereled
and the air
is crisp
and brisk
and we catch
sight of our breath
before it scatters
like chickadees
and yet
nothing compares
to watching
the streets
crawl under
fresh linens
woven by fireflies
darting about
in the amber glow
of festive streetlights

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