Frozen Morning
Cut in drift of falling snow,
left shaking shadow in wake,
lying in open window chill,
for plans made of tomorrow
already drifted past.
Curfew and persuasion were
companions at will, summoned to
keep calm when days went slowly
and nights were unloved for all
they lacked in excitement.
Starting a howl up to distant
listeners, reaching past air of
short towers and splintered alley,
cracks in windshield on parking
space for warmth here.
Cursing transparent of old ambition to
new potted plants, sick in bed,
watching wallpaper turn shades
each half-light with age, over
with what was.
