My Winter
O pass by for just a few ticks
when the flame in the belly heats
a light passion on tenebrous winter hours,
gazing at cold vapor fade to burst new ones:
I seize the ivory whirl of twigs bowing
and bowed, of many a hill capped
with icicles glazed by the frail redness
of a moonlight pulsing here and there,
not exactly how this breath would savor it…
Yet , in my eastern zone, there is ambrosia in melancholy,
for melancholy buoys all unresolved pining
weightless beyond the speech of refection;
this heart untamed from parental loss
on a cruel frosty bite through this intermission,
as tinseled snowflakes bathe my naked skin.
A Viv Wigley Contest: My Winter
11/26/2017
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