After an Easter vigil’s consecration
dawn cracks with such rotten angst
I’m left with nothing
Glowing in the moonlight,
hollowing, their bulk shriveling
in the melting temperatures,
their now blank faces staring
into nothing, hats sinking,
scarves sagging, skinny necks
and empty shoulders speak of scarcity.
Now their stickarms point downward from their bellies.
Collecting in the sunlight,
sparkling, shrouds of fresh snow
in the freezing temperatures,
their ice bones take on a ghostly radiance
and we see through them from one side
to the other, without eyes,
without nose, without mouth,
their undistractedness speaks of focus.
Now the blank face of winter points to abundance.