Winter

The cold burn of arctic air, hard for skin

and nose to breath, hard to think clearly. When

did you leave? You 

exit while winter’s demolishing trespass

changes all, with icy eyes that sit in judgement of

our radio sled parade.

Tired, fatigued people, always

feeling so crushed, under

extra clothes, the constant

contemptuous parcelling of snow

so ceaseless, no wonder folks stay so confused

throughout winter, such as I do myself

plodding through memories, looking for

reasons for our split.

An ice sculpture world shaped by fingers of the wind,

chilling and numbing, bringing shivers of them within whom blood flows,

causing inadequate footing, for walks, 

for pairings

ice reconfigured

what we were, or did you do that?

© Copyright, 2016, Linda Imbler.  All Rights Reserved.