Naked tree
Infant being
Dew on ancient veins
And all nocturne
Hush
The winter city does not speak
It creaks
It moans
It whispers
Rasping yet calm
From deep within its Immense grey nothing
Of a childlike ******
Oft from the away
Of the deep, dark, warm blooded secrets of a cure
Come now, blizzard
Snow or dust
Infinitesimal and wise
We’ve hung our wounds out
We will rejoice
While we find colour
Burning in your brilliance
Alabaster, gold, honey brown and chestnut
Now we’re all camouflage
The grass is olden, wistful and unkempt
We’ll look through and find each other
Or maybe a passing bird will carry us through
To other realms
Or back to our wombs
Like the echo of steely friction
And the ***** of alpine thorns
Like a thousand needles
From the paraphernalia
Urban nomads play on
Amorphous and obscure
Boldly proclaiming their dissonance
And in its trails
The treacly placid darkness engulfs
the mind
with its Itinerant leftovers
from an infantly battle
It returns
To sleep
To heal
To prepare anew, for a duel
In the Winter City
