Of Time and Winter

No tree could love its parasitic vine
Which strangles with its gripping death embrace-
Face forward and wait for your turn in line.

I draw a breath; savor the scent of pine
My lungs expand into an empty space-
No tree could love its parasitic vine.

The beasts are tamed, and walk the world benign
But lifelessness moves into passion’s place-
Face forward and wait for your turn in line.

Fear most the silver strand and stooping spine-
And hate the way those lines map out your face:
No tree could love its parasitic vine.

Lady Cadaver- body placed supine-
Like melting wax, her features out of place
Face forward and wait for your turn in line.

The days grow short, and summer must resign.
The air turns still, and color falls from grace-
No tree could love its parasitic vine;
Face forward and wait for your turn in line.