this mottled path
those boney brambles
everything is silent
steeped in indiscriminate gray
above
two faint gulls wheeling
are one in a million
i am in no mood
i am a product of these mild accidents
nothing under winter's dull pall
feels the least bit clever
every sign looks empty
every sound unstruck
all is just
far off chalk smoke just curls
stray flurries, they just swirl
and my footsteps just fall
one after one
unheard
