Prophetic as a
lake-effect tempest,
an unnerving
November howls like
a dying animal.
The sound rattles
the houses,
and shake
the skeletal trees;
they hunger for
warmth
through emaciated
limbs as they
brush against my
rufescent face.

I survey the
frost of the broken
valley.
In death
the surroundings
seethe in
white as my
blood pools and
congeals with the
waste of the rivers.