Winter walks with weight of wet wadmal;
somnambulism from dawn to dusk,
shoulder-hunching in sweat-scent of the crowded trains,
Winter is pale faces focused;
illuminated in sheen of smartphone screens
as snowflakes melting on asphalt.
Winter is coughing strangers,
rush-hour sandwiched, stacked together
for paychecks to be burned on Christmas gifts.
Winter is tight-rope walking.
A 55 for hedge.
December 8, 2017