Winter Weight

And the cold settles in like death.
Everything is still and gray
until the breeze gusts in spurts--
almost an afterthought. Leaves
and snow swirl about.

Icicles hang, ghostly appendages
bending limbs to their breaking
points. Trees are haggard
from dead weight- wobbling
in the wind.

Winter has buried us. It’s dirty
and bulky, an old white sweater two
sizes too big that hangs on the city.
Bunching up in the alleyways,
the gutters, on the streets.

Overcast skies suffocate. The sun
trolls for a place to flicker through,
its hazy glow smolders behind
the clouds stratum. No warmth
permeates their depth.