Winter 

She sits
nose to the glass
exhaling
fogging
her 
view.

She sits
morning long
watching, waiting
as glitter and glass
encases the
landscape.

Winter has
come, to stay
for a day
maybe a week;
she pulls
her tail, around
close.

Slide

The street is dark, but tonight, in the moon light— it has a polished sheen, like polished onyx cut square, set in the center of a gentleman’s pinkie ring.

The ruby sign, octagonal, standing alone, like  widow’s wedding ring, firm and stalwart in the gusting wind.

Gleaming blue, shiny chrome — loved like a new Christmas toy — carefree and riding high in the moonlight — radio loud, until it met the now spaghetti twisted guardrail.