Freezing Fog

The trees are wearing winter ermine. Frost
hangs heavy on the shed-roof's cobweb strands,
then melts to jewel drops. My city's lost
in freezing fog. A slick of ice demands
the greatest care to navigate; my hands
hang on the guardrail. A plume of steam condenses
from the neighbor's dryer, leaving bands
of furry white on shrubbery and fences.
Like curtains hung before some audience's
eager eyes, the fog now lifts and parts,
revealing sky. The sun uplifts our hearts
for a few hours. But afternoon commences
drawing in too soon; the puddles glaze
each foggy night between these sunlit days.

Available! High-Voltage Lines, Knocking from Inside