First Snowfall

A Poem

Photo by: Teagan Hunt

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First Snowfall

So the day falls,
Carrying no warmth anyway.
The dead dwell here - not even dead
For they never lived, pale breathers,
Crying in their alleyways.

Clamoring flesh brush bleeding fingers across the face of altars,
The stars slip and drown in torchlight,
Streets a-empty, the curbs and gutters bearing only vermin.
Blood smearing the teeth,
Sorrow in the eye, shivering and skittering,
Dashing, weeping tears of lye.

The night bites a sharp predawn morn,
And starving leaves curl their fingers,
While darkness noose-creaks in the trees,
Slithering, giggling like a trickling stream.

Ah, the first snowfall,
Wolves breathe patient between the pines.
Rising like wind-blown white, dancing sleepy-eyed,
Moon dusted moths, each flutter
A bell and hymn.

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