ashes of roses

the sky is a pinkish-grey, ashes-of-roses, like it is trying to find the balance between

the lights of the city, the fresh-fallen snow, the midnight darkness to which it feels

obligated. the backyard trees are so precise, so formal; even i can see the

mathematics in the skeletal branches, in the layering of snow, the rhythm with which

they shudder in the wind.

i love the lushness of the warm months, but this is when a city shows its nature.

there is so much to be seen in the naked silhouettes, the glittering in the moonlight;

the silence is visible, tangible: the city waits, the phoenix in a morgue.