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  • Writer's pictureTony Frobisher

Breathing in the Winter Morning

Breathing in the Winter Morning

The morning

Is soft breath

And lungs full

Of night, dark

Respirations, rhythm

Pulsing dreams that

Float in the first winds.

Escaping, dissipating.

Replaced by winter's

Cold reality.

The morning

Is soft breath.

Clouds of silence

Under the last moon.

Exhalation becomes condensation

Falling to join the frosted dew.

Crunching underfoot, each step

Shattering winter's sheen,

The shards flashing in

Ebbing moonlight.

The morning

Is soft breath.

Stillness imbued with

Dawn light, a hopeful

Return, as darkness, then cold

Lifts, and the first tendrils

Of horizon sun, wrap around

Gentle suspiration and

Winter lessens its grip

Breath by breath.

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