It’s a slow step into
cold air;
the season twists out
a new face.
A cat meows at a
half moon.
Heaven hears the barking
of angry dogs.
Strands of mist stretch from
street lights.
Whispers rise from the alley.
Window dressings
slumber.
Libraries welcome closing
hours.
Rain reduces the burden of
clouds.
Dead winter flies lie between
screens and glass.
A thin thread separate’s
all of this from
the other side.
Roger Singer 