Weighed in Cold

Green is black, blue is grey,
and frost lies diamond white,
waiting for the sun.

Old Night leads his reluctant host over the rising west,
shadow stragglers trapped in dells and river bottoms,
encircled, lost.

A dust mote falls around a star in the ancient deep.
The long swells break upon my heart’s shore.

Alan haunts the ATL, unnoticed, silent. Thinks, “All my lies are diamond white.” Read other articles by Alan.