Day 22 of 30 Days of Poetry
Patina of ice
Glistens in still air,
Breath fogs, skin tingles.
Scritch-scratch scrape car windows
Cold hands burn,
Sensation returns
With glacial rapidity.
Summer warmth
Mere fragment of dream.
Frosty Morning
Tag: cold
Waiting For The Dawn
The night is dark and cold.
I sit alone and think:
How long has it been since
The sun began to sink?
Its warmth now long forgot
As darkness claimed my world,
Slow stillness touching all,
In silence I am furled.
But night will reach its end
When tendrils first appear:
Bright fingers of the dawn
Caressing, soothing fear.
