This world is weathering, full
of time symbols. Leaves
drop, scattering brown
curled bodies across gray
shined sidewalks. A new
evening sky spills tints of pink
as marching clouds of dusky
grape merge into blue gray farewells.
Ahead, the cold white,
internal months, visiting old
ghosts, circling clumsy monuments to
my mistakes and catching sight
of the thin, black shadows
of my regrets.
Eventually, seduced by
pure white coverings,
I take up walking. Walking in
the clean solitude of dark nights,
admiring curved drifts of snow
and the frozen stillness of small trees.
Punched out animal footprints give
evidence of life moving through.
I can find hope. I find hope.
