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I have written poetry off and on thoughout my life. Now that I have retired from teaching the urge comes more frequently.
Knee flexed, you try to step
From your cold mosaic.
Earth coloured tesserae
Delineate your pose.
Your cloak blows out behind.
You grasp a dead hare’s legs.
Harsh weather strips the branch.
Cold binds you forever.
Imprisoned in winter
You are poised for escape:
Two dimensional man,
Navigating through time.
Hooded figure of winter is part of a mosaic
on the dining room floor
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