Cold moon riding high, bright over small hill,
snow crunching underfoot , an owl hooting
like a bearer of benevolent will
amid frozen shadows, tree twigs groping
like frozen fingers at pitch-black darkness.
Yet morning sunlight glinting on crystals
magnifies the rays with blinding glitter,
while frost makes the touch of metal bitter
on trash can covers, railings without glove,
as flint-shredded snow swirls from roof above.
The concept of zero evaporates
like breath dispelled in air or morning mists.
There’s a harsh, bleak beauty in frightful cold
which creates wry humor: caustic, brief, droll.