Exhaustion in a cold land
stumbling past dark windows
and the ghost of extinguished fires
Something ancient moves here
on the wind and over the snowdrifts
and in the blood that pulses
in rhythm with the siren call
crawling at the edge of a storm
rolling across time and a million fraying threads
connected all to a beating heart
and a voice calling softly for its lost soul
begging it to come home
Inspired in part by the nearly 2 feet of snow that fell here in Denver yesterday.
Beware the Ides of March.