Waiting for winter white

that orange and yellow

licks the fence in sunny
cold wind, the heart of
remnants beating against
the shadows stretching

whereas this time lingers
in those shadowy fingers

is it the leaving of life
to a solid slab underfoot
that lays linear squiggles
across lawns and up the
houses to their very eaves

whereas this time lingers
in those shadowy fingers

they long to hold what
now drizzles into the
black plastic bags or
heaps held in the back
of the house under tarps

whereas this time lingers
in those shadowy fingers

for all to come to halt
leaking liquid on the drive
clings to pavement in
bitter whistles as we
wait for the winter white

whereas this time lingers
in those shadowy fingers