The past is a guide;
A companion who leads you
Into the future
The night air’s cold hand
reaches down and pulls my breath
in shards from my chest.
Drops of falling rain,
Waiting, outstretched tongue.
Desperately seeking my
Crimson clouds hang low.
The day’s embers glow softly,
burning down to dusk.
Waves, softly lapping
Dappled light wanders.
Across the lush, verdant grass
I go to freeze on dark tides
I wake before three.
for another’s riches
Winter’s minion howls It’s frigid moonlight keening Rends the mind and soul
Midnight’s lustrous moon Bears witness to the promise Of the newborn year.
Winter’s trees stand watch Their last recalcitrant leaves Heralding the spring
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