Friday, February 17, 2012

Winters without snow

mean color challenged days

of deforested ambition, a

gaunt and dampened mood.

No star-struck bits of lace

to crystallize attention

and liven up the view.

No silent print of fox who

journeyed through the quarry

secretly at night.

Instead, a plainsong chant

with poverty of pitches

like bumblebees in flight

and colors that recall old

mushrooms decomposing

along the carriage road.

Such winters never grieve

at leaving us uncovered

and shivering in the cold.