It’s still too light
for the silhouettes to have fallen on the ground.
The time is nearing though.
Nearing.
The shadows slide father away.
Empty trees with see-thru leaves
leave the scene begging for snow.
It’s cold enough to be so,
the wind keeps blowing unabated
in a direction that has yet to be promising.
It’s cold in this shadow,
my body wasn’t made for this kind of weather.
Breathing out, I see comas all above me,
but not a trailing skylight in sight.
South is invisible.
I’d be lost if there were clouds to keep me warm.
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