I’m with Hadrian the artist, writing in the welcoming heat of his flat. My pre-arthritic left hand (don’t crack your knuckles, kids!) is stiff with…
Dawn unwinds a yawn.
The crush of raven coldon morning’s weak shoulders.
Ice beads on tree branches, lacy limbs, white fog sky. Silent cold of solstice, frozen buds and waiting, wanting…
Green how I want you green. Green wind. Green branches… FGL
Brief thaw after long, deep frost.An ambush for chilled cheeks and toes.
Pears morph intoastringent stoneson the bare tree.
When you are old,the cold taunts youlike a frigid lover.