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

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Inspired in part by the nearly 2 feet of snow that fell here in Denver yesterday.

Beware the Ides of March.

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Photo by Michał Franczak on Unsplash