Winter

Avalanche
of cloudʼs moody smoulder,
Careens
over snow-fleeced hills.

Muted wind-chimes hold their
tongues,
Cocooned in glimmering fangs:
Bite deeply into snow drifts
Settling heavily in their beds.

Flexed against the stir of icy breath,
Branches tethered to pools of glaze
Form arching belugas;
Springing,
Then diving deeply into the eye of
Winter.

Shards of splintered sky
fall around me, as wedges of ice
Split groaning rocks.

In the white-fleck forest,
Still,
Wings slap the air,
And echoes drip like
Spanish moss
From boughs of age.

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