unnumbered memories that crossed like sticks
of war that bitter wintry day unreal
that came and left my broken heart unfixed
(familial gatherings make their loud appeal
in this sad place); my two hands drawn betwixt
the fairy world and bitter self repeal
a portent of the moment at its quick
dreams of yesterday's tomorrow's reveal.
The cold and bone dry ways of moon-dripped autumn
the hillbirds that leave of their own device
the wind blow slow and bold like a temptation
November's wind's melancholy suffice
to bring me closer to deliberation
and sadness like hanged sticks of dreaming ice.