The freezing fog
does not come in on little cat feet
rather
it comes in
on the razor’s edge of
a hungry coyote’s tooth
and hangs over
the dead trees
giving them more ashen grief
the cold is bitter
and the distance is dim
the world is brittle and frozen
as if everything could snap apart
like frozen icicles
but here we wait
at what seems to be the end of the world
the edge of oblivion
wishfully preparing for winter
to lift it’s cold, dead fingers
and let us hope
for a forgiving spring
with clouds and rain
Freezing Fog
Published inPoetry
I had to shut myself away and read this out loud. I hope someone overheard me and thought I was reciting my own work. Really enjoyed this, LT, thanks 🙂
Thank you so much for your kind words, Phil. I likewise enjoy reading your work. You have such an outstanding sense of humor!