bruises on the snow
pink, blue, purple, black
wouldn't it be more beautiful if paint was
splattered on white glass?
torn pieces of paper
that fell
on shards of ice,
glistening pink under the
red moon tonight
my limbs creaked, sighed
like rusting gates up on a steep hill
as the trees shed their leaves
and purple bruises take their place
with sharp knives and a glint in their eyes.