Crimson wings cast weak shadows on russet fluffs
still standing from once-sunny goldenrod; they clump,
the mangy fur of a hungry coyote lost from its pack.
Limp, muted green mats of still grass fill the spaces,
where deer lie, hide to hide, in their warm rests until
Venus nightly beckons from her speckled black bowl.
I look down past my red fuzzy slippers, penetrating to
orange doppelganger; coquettish, magnetic core who
styles herself upon engine a galaxy away; veiled by
mantled rock or miasmic cloud, do obscure the same.
I, paste mangy mimic, cocoon in chill patient gloom
waiting for the turn, a pale white, disconsolate worm.
Sanaa is today’s host for dVerse’ Poetics. Sanaa says:
For Today’s Poetics, I want you to become the embodiment of winter. Tell us what you feel during this season. Describe a typical day in January. Feel free to go dark and philosophical or perhaps even write a story poem like Whiteman. I look forward to seeing what you come up with.