Full moon roars
her winter storm
white powder
cleaves to eave
liquid crystallised
as stone
& the land moans
primeval fear.
Friday 13th
a witch’s brew
ice & grit
life’s bones:
fox drops trace
on frozen path
sky’s glaring eye
a portent of rebirth
I pack a suitcase
for new dawn
& wait spring’s thaw.
Victoria Mosley 