Poetry

Freezing Fog

The freezing fog

does not come in on little cat feet

rather

it comes in

on the razor’s edge of

a hungry coyote’s tooth

and hangs over

the dead trees

giving them more ashen grief

the cold is bitter

and the distance is dim

the world is brittle and frozen

as if everything could snap apart

like frozen icicles

but here we wait

at what seems to be the end of the world

the edge of oblivion

wishfully preparing for winter

to lift it’s cold, dead fingers

and let us hope

for a forgiving spring

with clouds and rain

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2 thoughts on “Freezing Fog

  1. I had to shut myself away and read this out loud. I hope someone overheard me and thought I was reciting my own work. Really enjoyed this, LT, thanks 🙂

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