On dam shores
the wind whispers winter’s becoming.
Withered trees shiver in the frost,
Flickering sunshine beacon us home
to lay around chimney smoke.
On dam shores
clouds veil the sun
our skin itching goosebumps,
a sign of what is to come:
Winter’s hush.
The silent stream swallows the warmth
The naked wind parades the coming fall.
I barter with the Breath of God-
please sink the destitute into your palms-
cradle them…
for these ‘dam’ winters are seldom soft.