Winter Trails

Dark

Dark night, dark day
inside and out:
I have no shout
nor say.

Faint, echoed rage,
old hate
to ruminate
upon a page,
an after-ache
of agony,

they lie in wait
to ambush late
when all is stilled;

and early churn
when no bird yearns
from a sweet bill.

The iron band
in belly burns
cold yet -

though I met
my own terms
to the very ampersand -

one good day
be it as it may
cannot naysay

this blank, this grey,
from shadow play
on stage midwintering
in bad light failing.

.....