Withering
Back to the bone.
Then, too,
The marrow
Drawing in.
Cease, surcease,
Silence.
Thread of life
Pulled tight,
Stretched taught.
Knotted, (dark knot),
To the past
Hoping to continue
Through this cold.
Even water, though,
Has turned
To rock.
Only one movement :
Slow,
Pendulum moon
Slides golden,
Hazy
Across
This winter dawn.
simonhlilly 