Winter light
seeming bright
fair worth the watching.
Sycamores spread
naked fingers overhead
fair worth the warning.
Bituminous clay
smithing by the quay
tools for the smiting.
Tombing scythe
“All,” cry I
fear not the loathing.
Tumultuous the day
all fly away
fear most the dawning.
All are dumb beasts
spread out as a feast
None are innocent.
Winter set
boding yet
the skies all are watching.
Tongues are not stilled
“Fall on us, o ye hills!”
bones ungentle breaking.
But too late to turn back
knowing now what they lack
now left
only the sound of forsaking.
RWOz2
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