COLD by Ross Vassilev

bony trees
and cold air
and the sun
a smoldering
cigarette.

i don’t mind
the cold or
the empty
street.

there’s
comfort in
loneliness

in my white
breath among
dark closed
windows.

i think of
the sun
going down

of the hare
and the
frightened
mouse

of sparrows
chirping on
a quiet ledge.

About these ads