Early morning, sun still lost in yesterday

But rising again soon enough, cold

Light across the face of winter, yet

Biding its time and I can feel its

Approaching regard in the shadows

Of my heart, tidings from the east

Portended by what has come before.

I can wait. Yes. I can wait.

January clings to its white shroud

But its days are numbered, losing

Purchase, clawing ice water nails

Splintered to the quick, ragged

Breathing against my windowpane

Giving rise to howling accusations of

Betrayal and promises of revenge.

But it’s too late. Yes. Far too late.

END

“Slow Change”