The Bridge Between...

Biting Wind,

snarling Dog of Winter,

howls again;

your hair could be like icicles

feel cold splinters

piercing fingertips

to the chilled bone,

no, make that marrow

and if you're unlucky enough

to be on your own

you might be discovered

on the morrow

turned to stone

like Bilbo's Orcs

without a campfire

to warm your frozen toes

for Winter kills,

Winter kills

but you go willingly

to the Old Man's Embrace

and this windy ten below

trying to get past my defenses

is just a taste
but I'll not have

my Last Supper

at that table...

 

Black to under lit,

to Grey comes Blue

turns White
and Rose come dancing,

the Line of Day
marked on the Horizon;

Thomaston and W. Main,

on the bridge

overlooking the River;

Night behind me,

Day before,

which way would you go
for I've never seen a Tomorrow
nor been back to Yesterday...
Feb. 20, 2015