The Art of Winter

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-Photo by Mary Bach

There is a beauty in
negative spaces,
in winter,
in life drawing down
to a
point
 
the stark dark and light
of trees and snow,
of moon and night
of hunger and time,
thickening, lengthening, slowing
blown by winds
drifting at our door
beautiful and dangerous
call to us
 
winter draws us down
to the bone

 

This is 55+ for the Imaginary Garden with Real Toads where we are asked to write 55 words on the topic of our choosing, and if we would like to deal with some pairing of two things.  Click on the link and check it out.

Grand Finale

The November temple is empty
the sacrifice finished.
Leaves scatter in the wind;
branches snap
like dry bones
of an unearthed skeleton.

The hole
in my graveyard chest
is empty
and black birds pick
at the pearls
which were my eyes.
 
Houdini’s midnight cape
settles with a flourish.
The show is over.