WINTER CITY

Naked tree

Infant being

Dew on ancient veins

And all nocturne

Hush

The winter city does not speak

It creaks

It moans

It whispers

Rasping yet calm

From deep within its Immense grey nothing

Of a childlike orgasm

Oft from the away

Of the deep, dark, warm blooded secrets of a cure

Come now, blizzard

Snow or dust

Infinitesimal and wise

We’ve hung our wounds out

We will rejoice

While we find colour

Burning in your brilliance

Alabaster, gold, honey brown and chestnut

Now we’re all camouflage

The grass is olden, wistful and unkempt

We’ll look through and find each other

Or maybe a passing bird will carry us through

To other realms

Or back to our wombs

 Like the echo of steely friction

And the prick of alpine thorns

Like a thousand needles

From the paraphernalia

Urban nomads play on

Amorphous and obscure

Boldly proclaiming their dissonance

And in its trails

The treacly placid darkness engulfs

the mind

with its Itinerant leftovers

from an infantly battle

 It returns

To sleep

To heal

To prepare anew, for a duel

In the Winter City