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golden miasma
of summer, smoke wood in air
hangs around for now
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lake from a lost dream—
looking across the water,
all that could have been
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harsh blizzard rolls in,
watch snowfall against white clouds,
subtle silver sky
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waiting on the dawn
over the next horizon,
golden light, surely
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chilling damp pervades,
bare branches against grey snow,
ice drips down the pane
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ice sheet cracks and breaks,
floats out on the frigid lake,
it will break apart
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slip of crescent moon,
mild winter night, foggy haze,
oil slick city sky
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purple starless night,
even Jupiter eaten,
cruel city skyline
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horizon is there,
cloud wisps whittle away
last purples of dusk
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old tree snapped by wind,
gales that shouldn’t rend, but do—
strength: a fragile thing
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forest recovers
from the last spring flood, prepares
for the next and next
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cool ceramic, a
million tiny white circles—
creature flees through woods
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rain mists the night,
light turns a bleary gold haze—
dark, empty back porch
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and another bleak,
desaturated grey day,
and another and
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yellowing green-white
of snow on grass, one crows hops,
takes off, then flies east
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fractal wind howls,
scourging air of white ribbons;
blizzard blankets all
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storm rolls in and wrecks,
no care for calm or quiet;
cruel capriciousness
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