WEATHER HUNTER 

Shiver. Swift whip of wind.  

Fangs of the low front 

stinging fierce as forest fires. 

Frost thickening the stoop. 

 

Exhaust from our mouths  

rising into ruptured sky: 

pillowcase aftermath 

of cold feathers on the ground. 

 

Chattered teeth. Cracked  

hands, cutoff circulation.  

Bodies huddled under bus stops  

amidst industrial frontier. 

 

Winter: the weather hunter.  

Perpetrator of our 

beloved comfort. 

Seizing summer’s wealth. 

 

Heaving it over his 

hardened back. 

Trudging the embers of dusk  

through a dead still wood.