winter

sleepy village rests under a
fresh, soft sheet.
a broken body lies under a
less fresh sheet.
tossing mind churns under waves of
gold,
and the bedroom window
glows
behind gossamer curtains.
sun has made its final descent;
disappeared from my world, on to
the next.
and yet it still manages to tint the snow copper from
someplace else.
i wish i had a wingspan that wide.

.h