The wind from the east
carries the chill of the Atlantic
as it piles up the sea on the beach.
No collapsing breakers.
Only the relentless effervescence
of the charging surf.
The waning moon rises
out of black water
and paves its silver road.
Snow left
on the ground at home
on the ground at home
and ice on the pond.
The wind will turn soon.
Nothing lasts.
