Stiff Fingers

Frost reaches for the window

Widow spider named Winter

Stark scenes of muted greys and crystal whites that shimmer

The glimmer hides the lie

Ice wind across your face

Bites your nose

Bites your eyes

Romanticized too much

Stiff fingers and black toes as you lose your sense of touch

Angel of death, descending with the snow

Low Frequency

Substance is the passing key

The secret isn’t frequency


There is no need

Progression isn’t measured by the pace chosen to keep

Long sleep, great awakenings

Taking a moment to wipe the stains from your eyes

Bringing into focus all that you’d been passing by

There’s no harm in hanging back

You have to take the opportunity to see what’s on your step