giblzd

Scrawny wolves, and you,
Everywhere, utterly.
From there. Toward . . .
visitors' dugout. The osprey whose nest is atop
To mark that square, perhaps: were Mère and Père
To reach out into its own vanishing
What I have in my hands, these flowers, these shadows,
In stone waves and rock waters, far from day,
That patch of white at the very end of the road
Cascading snowflakes settle in the pines,
That patch of white at the very end of the road
Over the chilly dale.
Bronze the sky, with no
The snowflakes are swirling, blotting out
As it sits there like an eventual
their bellies, they're out cold, instantaneously
How bittersweet it is, on winter's night,
Empty streets I come upon by chance,
Suddenly, in a savage, dreadful bend,