The World Is Winter
S Sandra Fowler
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Today the world...
Landscaped in pen and ink by
hidden hands
Is winter and embossed in white
on white,
The sky cries down its tears
upon the earth.
Black angled trees...
An onyx labyrinth twists down
the wind
Until the ground is rippled
white brocade
bemeath a shifting candleflame
of sun.
And we ourselves...
Embracing on the creek, like
figurines
Skate out across a polished
mirror of ice
Its edges rough and ridged
like hobnailed glass.
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