As I shifted in the darkness of the morning
Under the pebbles
Making a consistently uneven rhythm,
I finally became convinced
That we are headed for the depth of winter,
And Christmas lights will not deter us.
It is ‘cool’ to like winter,
But I am not enamored of the terrible death.
There is slight hope for serenity
Long after the bottom.
I know spring may only
Come after this barren landscape,
A landscape with no love left,
But I might not live to see spring.
stillfugue 