Where ice shards bit
through sordid grass
lay Pleasure and her foolish past
once green
yet now unheard,
unseen ‘midst shattered glass
like stemless frozen flowers white…
while the white cat watches through the window of a train
’til puffs of steam cloud up the pane
‘midst yawns and dreams of fat bottomed rats,
the train does pass
the frozen fool and his pleasure
in fields as white
as January
