Winter

Winter

Winter scars—
six keen strands of
skeletal branches scrape
what little life lies
beneath the broken fern, scattered,
as wind breathes through
the wick of a dying flame,
scattering ember and ash
into a fleet of hardened snow.

Yet winter dazzles,
gleaming in the solemn dewdrop
that clings to the twigs
of a barren beech,
or bleaches the mud-cracked slopes
with snow that buries
what the earth cannot mourn.