The depressing winds invade my spirit—
What’s left of my spirit in this hinterland of winter.
How much loss must one endure from the cold,
The merciless pall that extends to the blinding white horizon,
The death-colored blains that layer the soul
Like an apartheid from our better natures?
All feels lost. Unable to regain momentum
In this stillness of death,
There is no hope for reconnaissance.