Through the sight of daylight

I see a street of whitewashed sand,

cars like broken turrets of ice

melting on a moon clock of dew.

The tilt in my lost breath

wavers in an open canvas of pale stars,

and under the timid river's ice

reflects like imprisoned lanterns of orange.

A dwindled telegraph line hangs

like a frozen thread to a web,

its pale frost illuminating

the misty essence of surface.

Warm sunset is staring

at the oily cloud that peers with motion,

while clearing all the whitened ash

from the deluge of Winter's room.

MJ Duggan
Poetry of MJ Duggan