It’s not the cold I fear but what it brings
The sky lowers its curtain
Blank squares
No laughter, no music
Every hour is 4 AM

Birds do not stay
Twitch, twist, turn away
Smell the trackless fall of
Flakes invisible, soft and wet
Creatures of air
Smaller than breath

Our sighs spirit their ships
To inner seas of fog and mist
Where they hook their new home
Curdling blood and chilling bone
Freezing us in their embrace
Burning brains white

Those we most love
Speed their rise
Our cool ends

I will pray for fresh stars
Constellations of spring
Stunning the clock to change its hour
We must still carve its hands
But they will mark a new time