Thaw

There is an icing
on the window

after this last night

cold has bitten pits into the railings

and frozen 

animal tears 

in the sockets of eyes.

I would paint the sun rise

from here

contemplating distances
in hours

measuring dividing miles 

in sighs.

But you could
colour a new colour,

for I am tired

of these greys and blacks

that I have found of late.

You could bring
a new palette

and refresh my water jar
that I might clean my brushes.

With swift determined strokes
upon the vellum sheet
I would flake the cyan sky
above your head
and the dust dry land
beneath your feet
for

I perceive

the brightness
of a Southern sun

in your hair.

Sound me a new sound

For I am weary of my groans

and moans.

Whisper me secrets

that will tease 
this dwindled flame

into life again

for it has grown lethargic

in this customary dark.

I would crack the hoarfrost

that encrusts my beard.