WINTER'S BREATH

My heart's blanket of summer's sizzling visions
slowly unravels like a frayed old comforter
when the frazzle from a January morning's mood icebergs
clogs my veins and otherwise soothing amplitude of calm,
clashing with my serenity
in a frigid, inner cacophony of moans and curses
over the sense of being entombed
by the display of an ice box's claustrophobia in wintry confinement
where I see a world, so cold, barren and paralyzed of vitality,
bereft of June's vibrant hues in aliveness.

I feel bathed in the chilled and frozen catatonic
dull shades of alabaster and ebony
where wind's fickle artist carves
those bizarre drift statues and macabre ice castles.

Then I kiss the morning foreboding freeze with a smile
though I see only a harsh and motionless domain
letting its looming tales of glacier chills
and worries that snowmen may secretly
be sub-zero wizards waiting to turn me into an icicle zombie
strum upon my spirit
till I see that one golden ray of warm sunlight's promise
bringing reminders of a different waiting horizon
unmolested by the numbing prickle
felt by
winter's breath.