28 November 2011

early chill

outside the winter storm is pelting down
with ancient power recalling us to true
vision of our places so then we rue
both the larger anger and the lesser frown
each gout of pressure under which we drown
unheeded here withheld from public view
still grasping for some force that would renew
each broken heart and smile at each sad clown
tonight we’re promised snow that will not stick
to the warm ground and ice that will not chill
for any length of time the naked skin
yet winter ‘s taking only the first lick
at these soft hides there’s still much room for ill
since we are in a race the clock must win

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