I wake to winter’s melancholy

palette, grey on grey it’s

blowing on this febrile breeze

 

seeping through my bones

limiting movement

turning me to stone:

 

‘’& what of love?’’…..You say.

 

I’m the other side

of midnight sifting through

my warrior bones…

 

‘’& what of love?’’ You say.

 

I have no answer

to the play of midnight

on bare branch

 

can only shrug & turn away

waiting for the stars

to hold us close again

 

waiting for the stars

to blind us.