Froth

the midnight wind screams its icy poem
pulls him from his warm bed
his thoughts rise 
fall between the crushing
swells of wind
struggle weakly in the dark currents
the gusting waves are stronger
he is older
his rusted bones weak
a body thrashing in its own ruins
he slips beneath the surface
grasps at the imageless things
he sees them looking up
from his turbulent submersions
restless leaves chatter interfere
curse the wind as only winter leaves can do
wanting to be heard
he is voiceless
drowned out by the hardened wind
its sudden death
frothing
on his
beaten
shore

a leaf tapping
at snowflakes

jppestana december 17, 2016