In the North....it All Depends, a Poem
at night in the winter the air is tangible
a living friend that holds your breath
like a soft caress if you're on your deck
warm brandy icing up in its snifter
the amber light from the kitchen
holding promise and succor
behind you
at night in the winter the air is a thin knife
slashing your tortured breath in frozen strips
from your spotted face and cracked lips
alone on the trail
wet coat
wet matches
the nearest light the yellow bulb
of Mikey's tavern
alive only
in your fading
fantasies
at night in the winter the air is
© clark cook
