The nakedness of winter lies heavy upon
the tolling Sunday quietude
Shed leaves perish into yesterday
and the dream of another
dawning someday wanes
The sun ― lay low
the drudging ashen skyline
Barerd emerald moss scaffolds
draw much more distantness
to the pallid shadowed horizon
The evergreens step forth,
roots grasping sacred heart,
soil and rock
In the swelling aloneness
you can feel the grain
of the heartwood
rooted in your soul
There are no hard feelings
but there's an enduring ache,
like a tree with a rotting limb
languishing within
its blackened bark sacrifice
It's not just the grinding time
that slips away begrudgingly;
more of the same takes a toll
as if another unrung belfry hour
in an empty bell tower
without a song rang out in vain,
peeling reflections
of reluctant hours c r a w l by
in the insensible apathy
A so called holiday passes ―
its footprint bears down
hard and deep
as if a paling winter rose
grieves its own passing
A dry wishbone unbroken
lay bare the poignant
truth it holds;
it takes two to make
this wish come true
.