That building-up of bone chill cold
in the gather of leaves
collected and left curbside
of a change in time
when clocks go back
and shadows hide by five o'clock.
That gearing-up for pending storm
in closet search
for hats mitts scarves boots
heavy coats with padded hoods.
Steady hum and hiss of furnace
when sun sheds its carefree smile
of summer's barefoot saunter.
That quicksand tug that sucks a body down
from the fallout when first flakes fall.
Mushy slush on streets and sidewalks.
of shovels scrapers blowers plows
which write their names across
a white and warmless landscape
in this weather weary world of winter.
From Tower Poetry Vol. 62 #2, Winter Edition 2013-2014