Straggler (Poetry)

Thoughts blown far-distant
each one drifting
frail as a snowflake
honed by doubt’s harsh jigsaw
cut to crazy patterns
microscopic detail
a cold braille of synapses
sense can only guess at.

Flakes cannot settle
a gale of sighs
has them scurrying sideways
worried to a stampede
blurred in their reason
a herd of flyaways
smudging the horizon
with gathering threat.

The year is past minding
its shallow-breathing greyness
a pillow of madness
puffed chill — the odd whim
limping along — the last straggler
rejected — made homeless
gone ageing and pale
hope’s fabric too thin
                                can offer no warmth.