The Cold

 

 

I know you're out there

Still, brooding

Bound to a bleaker way of things

Making the wind sing

Before it bite the wallers hands

Eager in your cruel intimacy

But kept from overrunning

The smallest burrows by fur

Gritters chase you down

With their errie amber glow

I imagine you sulking

Wretched in your unrest

Until a veering winf releases you