Blossom in the dark short days-

A frightful thing, a poisoned month.

Crow sits blackly silent on a rain-blacked branch

Sentinel to the end of things.

At the unheard signal

He flaps through drizzle-dense air,

Fades into the grey of death of day.

 

Gone-over Christmas lights blink ersatz cheer

Into exhausted, exhaust-filled dusk.

Glitter and plastic limbs of cast-off toys adorn

The scum awash on toxin-laced waves

That lap a broken shore.

 

 

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