Wind is eager to break its record -
throwing calm-ward flaked-frosted air,
like a shuffler for swapping deck cards
or awaken by hunters bear.

Every gust sticks with hundreds needles,
slightly breath through the scarf is taken,
winter’s twiddles, as fiddles’ tweedles,
crunchy sound leaves path forsaken.

Don’t look back, when you hear calling!
Death is howling, spills icy tears,
its intentions are justly holy
breathless kisses lust free of fears.

Short as stops, long as shutting visions
blood is palpably plods through vessels,
ear harks to precise incisions
of the flaked-frosted-calmness wrestles.

3 January 2008