Share this story
Close X
Switch to Desktop Site

This morning

Hoarfrost flowers on the stubble, and catches first light as it glints off the snow-filled furrows.

This white

About these ads

beneath the cloud-shadow's slow blue

is a privacy turning outward, unfolding -

like the shape of water overflowing

a leaf-clogged gutter - how it freezes

in the moment of its fall.

This morning.

This quiet as the streetlight clicks off,

About these ads

and the gray horse, its mane hatched in ice slivers,

tears at the bent, shagged stalks.

Follow Stories Like This
Get the Monitor stories you care about delivered to your inbox.