The Freeze
January digs deeper into snow drifts.
Chill fingers cripple backbones,
make us walk like matchstick men.
February is just a name we give to tomorrow,
as if we could open that icebox
to see if the sun still rises over un-seeable horizons.
Time drags, then of a sudden, pushes us into snowfields
sprinkled with concrete daffodils.
Copyright © Eric Ashford | Year Posted 2022
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