JANUARY DUSK, the poem

Evenings' deepening shadows, the tao of cliche, stretch across a western sky, it's fingers trees dark lay. Moving like a sighing, like the cold and dismal wind, the shao of the winter laying hard upon its' friend, comes bitter as a coffee and black as coffee' dark, looking for the evening star, for somewhere it can park.

Upon the wintry ridges of a western broken line, of homes of various shapes and size, where leaves scat as they whine. However dark it will become, transition lends it's art- and it doesn't matter just how cold! it gets into the heart. And leaves its mark of color, of snow and other light, to trip the mind of seekers as they search the wintry night!

Farewell, this day of days, this pleasured trace upon the yes. The first dawn's movement on our streets has left us with surprise!