apathy

it never changes, how winter stalks
in, the way overcast
skies sweep over
the sun and all her radiance, then leave a frozen
moon to hang blankly,
silently,

over grey, crusted snow.
years die, only to be born again in the same
icy monotony,
flakes falling indifferently
to stark stillness
below, and you can always hear

that laughter around the
hearth when fingers unfreeze and
blush returns to dimpled cheeks.
as for me,
i like the snow –

the ice,

the cold, and the numbness
it brings