20140113_d5c_20131123_0749_099_fb2-pheasant-malermb-id768Losing your fingers to frostbite
is one way of learning
the lay of land
as patient
night creatures
await their turn by sunset
we who are foolish
blunder across landscape
like lost phesants
littering harmony with mottled noise
when the car flings them to
roadside graves, warm and feathered
twitching their gory surprise
it is the still ebon crow
hungry for ojos
stark against his watch
who shall taste their regret
for dressing too brightly
attracts less than one might guess
in worlds where to last
you must blend a little
with surrounding color
lest you stand out