Wednesday, December 22, 2010

Winter is come

Street lamps are mournful xanthic sentinels
Ringing the reservoir face out
Somber as herd mothers, hooves at ready
To ward away shaggy flat-tonguéd wolves
Panting and leering like perverts

Flat white sun slows and lowers then departs
Douglas-fir copses deepen, loom
Gloomy sentries cast down their pale faces
Mourning some small something that someone said
In some sleepy sometime long ago

Then the darkness is complete
Winter is come

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