No sooner does winter finish its lovely emaciation
through the gauzy gray chill for whatever desperation
might serve as their very last resort, than the sulking sun
begins to linger along its daily arc, fleshing the planet out
of its thin melancholy ache and spoiling the brooding
contemplations of a man susceptible to frostbite’s ecstasy
and a thousand cold regrets.
Eclectica - Spring 2015