Winter Song
Beneath fawn skies
The wet eyed January city lies
Bereaved of a year.
The sloping roofs curl around the houses
And drip on the streets,
On the glistening year tired streets
Where people are pinched and pushed
By the winter winds.
I sit alone with shallow bitter memories
Of a non-existent spring,
Tinged with a wild sweetness of a strange summer,
The loss of Autumn,
And the hungry embrace of the winter.
2014 Jim Carroll
(1966)
