picking up scraps of letters and shapes
crafting responses
to the cobalt moon
all-consuming flames
take the animal
turning inside out the skin and muscle
leaving wretched refuse
freezing on the sidewalk
children draw chalk circles
then skip merrily away
snowflakes dance over graves
long emptied of flesh
bones dance in winter winds
the moon hides behind icy hills
travelers still seek messages in stars
lovers write about comets and kisses
laborers only see their shabby boots
wolves circle
desolate lands and grey minds
leaping and taking languishing artists
snatching in their powerful jaws
anything resembling good cheer
hope has no place
in the den of winter wolves
The Word Rummager 