With indecorously chattering
teeth and low lips
still quivering—
outside (on the yet-
frozen
cusp of the fourth
month or not)
we have—nevertheless
all got
to stand-
up and start
applauding—the clean clout
and immense
brawny
prowess of cold—so good!
at strangling—
even
the slightest idle
quicksilver
breath out of
every last
lazy enigmatic cloud—
up there
that's foolhardy
enough
to loaf around—so
frivolous
and inexplicit—as if
somehow
to flout
the exacting rigor
of our frigid
champion's ruthlessly
clear—devotion
to
sheer economy.
