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.

Disabled by the poetic impulse at a very young age, Alan searches always for the latches that open the floodgates of kindness. When they're found watch out, watch out!! Wash you all away. Read other articles by Alan.