The Traveller

Frozen gloves,
crisp with glass,
crazed with flakes of transparent wonder.

Snow in cracks on eyebrows bent low.
Light blue eyes look back
at eyes of thunder.

An explosion of mist-breath
curls and dances in cold static air.

Words float like fish
that swim in the winter world there.

"Goodbye..."

The house before is dark brown wood,
roof heavy, with snow and memory.

Each deep look is understood,
as he turns, from ice to sundown's flood.

© Mark Sheeky. Permission is required for reproduction.