tonight
runt crystals caught
by a dull beam
between sleet and a promise
hovering between states
fading wasabi fast
cold wind nibbles
like a three a.m. piss
that isn’t worth getting out of bed for
not quite snow
equivocates into memory
an arctic outflow bullies clouds along
until it is simply cold
leaving trees bare
fading into sharp slivers
of black in the night
unadorned for now
except for a premonition
David Trudel © 2013
