Saturday, January 28, 2012



wind, a feral motion

twisting in and

out between the days;

the days, suddenly

strange to themselves,

estrange themselves.

They turn


long fingers curling,

pale, digging into

their collars

and scarves,

to seek a warmth

not there.

1 comment:

  1. This is so true. Sometimes I find that I hate January, that, looking back, I can't remember a single thing I liked about it. It's the numbness after the highs and lows and longings and recedings of December. It's the month where winter catches up to you and begins to press down with a slow, unrelenting weight.
    Although I have to add that recently it's been in the high 50's and low 60's here.