A Skim-Milk Sky
A wet mist wraps itself around my shoulders
like a damp bath towel:
while my spine shudders at its touch.
A skim-milk sky retains a bluish tinge
as a yellow sun swims behind a reef of clouds
absorbing its light like a thirsty sponge.
And I see my world through a grey lens
that distorts my vision;
like I'm wearing the wrong prescription glasses.
Both sky and land don sullied shades of grey:
as if Autumn's heart were pierced,
and its vibrant colors, all bled away.
Winter winds, laden with flakes of snow,
scatter scarlet, gold, orange, and crimson leaves:
sweeping them under a carpet of white on white,
seemingly overnight.
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