07 December 2009

First Snow

By first light 
winter whispered itself white
onto the green grass like 
a woman whose beauty 
withers so soon and
as  you watch.

Something died in me today--
drowned in a sky of silent soup.
Do not search for it,
only sleep--

sleep and dream of 
sour springs and blood summers 
and shadows of cold words still-
born eggs like wishes broken 
in the growl of this fall storm.

PROMPT: Magnetic word tiles selected on the basis of what appealed to me that day. (I have LOTS!)