The sun winks at me through barren trees.
The abject cold of lovelessness
turns landscape deadly,
frozen,
bold,
and timeless.

No lovepoems claim Sweet January.

Glass,
smudged and frosted,
keeps me safe,
cocooned in anti-natures heat.

The old dog,
once at my feet
now lies at distance,
a graying disarray,
snorting in his sleep and
breathing breaths of struggle.
His feet-twitch of dreamed puppy-hood
is our combined entertainment
as we slide the winter down

I was born in Fall.
I should consider winter neighbor,
but,
my bones feel enemy.

The full length window,
mirrors my image
that fades in sunrise
as I watch carefully the frosted dawn,
a sundown in my Fall
of life.

Spring me.

01/29/2008

Posted on 01/30/2008
Copyright © 2025 Timothy Somers