The trees that line the path are all denuded–
A January trick that strips things bare
To disabuse us, lest we be deluded
That living can continue without care.
The waning light of day is submarine,
The trees take on an underwater cast,
They writhe and swirl like underwater things
As this day moves from present into past.
The west looks washed, the sky touches the earth–
We are the yolk surrounded by this shell,
This moment bringing both a death and birth:
The difference can be very hard to tell.
The dog tugs at his leash: Time to move on.
Our shadows lengthen in the setting sun.