in the embrace 
of a cold misty sky
draining blood's colors 
from leaves with each drip,
light slips relentlessly scraping 
the grasp of your eye
in the harsh, forbidding fist of the wind.
cringe in its claws,
warmth ripped from you, 
chilled to rag-bareness
beholding indifferent sky --
its silence, where did the noise,
laughter, joyous roar go;
a season's slap in your face -- 
another year's shove
as you frantically rush 
to imitate life from old memories.
stand still, feel time grasp you tight,
running its blade down your skin, 
before the blind return 
of bloodwarm spring rains....
Jon Bohrn (1999)



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winter shore