It whispers a night math on cold windowpane,
Swirling cough and hiccupped gunshot...
A glowering prism, sweet frosting's sonnet
And blurring the edges of shortened days.
The hours roll past in the gusts of the gale storm,
Flickering candlelight, rattling hip bones,
Cross freeze plaster landscapes, in harrowing tempest
And burning icicles deep down under pores.
The drudgery lingers,
So much time spent in waiting,
In bound penitentiary, held down at the wrist.
It kills with its back break,
And softens the steeples,
And bleeds out the patience of one long winter's kiss.
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