WINTER IN THE PARK

Winter,
snaking its first icy breath through skeletal fingers.
to a shrouded sun.

These gnarled remnants of summer green, frosted
to hide naked forms,
grudgingly greet my crunching invasion.

Creamy mallows, plodded flat.

Puddles under the crust - lurking - waiting
to pounce on a leaking boot and
flood out the warmth.

Someone has sampled this fresh early world and left
a thread of steps to mock my early rising.

Only he can own the vision of unmarked white
that enticed me from the womb of slumber
too late.