Winterkill

Gray spreads the day sky as
a slow blindness absorbing color
a great marauding sop to gulp light
without fill, a swilling, then to seep its wilt
under sill, through gap and chink.

Cold lays on me leaden as a mourning,
a silent grinding slowing organ
and mind to a pallid stop
as snow clouds tuft about my head
like a coffin pillow, silken and useless.

January is a gnawing mouse with its
hounding chit-click chit-click chit-click
and I am whittled and chewed to become
winter’s nub.

Snowflakes scar my face
with their landing sizzle.