The Slowing Hum of Winter's Song

With winter in bloom,
the streets are cement glaciers,
moving slowly in time
to the waltz of still-life loneliness.

The skinny trees blush in embarssment.
They look poorly dressed
for the cold wind's stare.

The dragons breath of carbon monoxide,
lingers and disappears behind the tail-pipes of cars,
with a fresh glaze of ice
surrounding them like frost jackets.

Your arms are pendulums counting steps, days, weeks, seasons.
Your head pointed down with spring in your step.
"The day is short, the night is long.
The slowing hum of winter's song,
And a thousand whispers can't be wrong --
With the setting sun to trail along."