(no subject)

the wind sounds like a waterfall
or a dying engine.

it is morning.
the clouds have no edges.

the cold makes you
skinless. this is not June.

not something to wait for
or wake up to.

this is not something
to whisper, a promise.

not a memory.
this is a gray beast

with numb fingers
and no teeth, and breath

icicled and odorless.
everyone hide

in forests or caves I
will tear the roof

off your houses I will
turn your chin up to face me

I will let you see yourself
naked and shivering

in the hands of my mercy.