The cedars, (are) suspended

On an ice bridled shore

Between a waiting forest

And (the) black water

That coils beneath deepening ice

The wind bites

And (it) brings to me

The mournful wail of a southbound train

I could go

Far from the snow locked marshes

(Far from) The polished drifts of a frozen land

(But) All noise fades to silence

I bow my head to the whitened world

Walking north

*Meh, I can’t get it tweaked right. Not written about here by the way, but about rural Ontario.  Though last night here was certainly fitting