compline

I have to edit you winter, so only the
sharp days remain – and the mild, the
insignificant, the sodden days
are gone

I have to kill you winter
your short skirts torment me
my head can’t rest
between cold legs

but you draw me tight
to suffocate me in
your circle
or your centre

while in the middle
of your dharma
summer’s road kill
browses sky