Yellow dull winter days
They have come fast,
yellow dull winter days,
short on the tablecloths of snow, stain
suddenly the copper-coloured earth.
Few rusty shingle roofs remain
and charred cathedrals, ribs of rafters,
crossbeams and bolts burst
the dark lungs of winter storms.
Past views are killed. Each dawn discovers
new skylights, chimneys born
and raised by night wind’s
dark pipes of a devil’s organ.
Crows, living black leaves,
tear themselves loose in swarms –
smoky soot flakes, metallic wings
break the dull yellow stripes of dawn
Spirits are low, eyes become misty. Days
freeze with cold and desolation.
That makes us think of loaves, the previous year
cut with blunt knives and without appetite
in long forgotten lazy sleepiness-