Fold the sky into a crane
cradled in cupped hands
tired cars creep down their lane
scraping snow dark bands.
May-fly snowflakes dance the wind –
students, scarfed, scuff by.
And at the board (your prayers please send!)
prop’s bloody end draws nigh.
Tag: winter
Wakeful Winter: a brief explanation of writers
What the writer says:
Wakeful here, we trespass!
Wakeful here, we walk a foreign world
pale-sky palace built not for us
best left to bloodless voices
warmthless wakeful wind-sprites
screaming down their waste.
What the writer means:
I’m COLD and TIRED and I want to be HIBERNATING.