Winter/

Winter/
The voice of God has stripped the forests bare
Quietly, but all at once
Whirls of brown-orange across a suddenly pastel blue sky
A curtain closed by a man hanging on its long rope
As the year comes swiftly to its end

Winter/
I drove under a blushing sky,
Oil strokes glazed over with watercolors
The sun drowsing its way under the edge of the earth

Winter/
Fields of green lie fallow
The golden wheat lies piled in its house
While endless stretches of barren earth prepare to hibernate
        —to wait, with held breath, for the long-in-coming green of spring
        —that verdant maiden, she tarries like the sun before a summer dawn
        —her veil of dreary days and white water-lace donned in preparation

Winter/
Creaking, groaning arms strain under the weight of a pale sky
And hope for rebirth

And so do I