Five O'Clock Shadow

Orange bleeds yellow above the white tipped horizon My fingers are crying, for the days of never ending bath-tubs. Soon- winter will carve it’s 5 o’clock shadow across the east coast. and smoke will rise from brick chimneys. On sunny afternoons, Guilt may find it’s way to dig it’s heel. But here- the cold is biting my toes, and my mind is free to listen to the dogs wrestling. Playing, like fiddler for a hot meal.