Upside Down

By Peter Halstead

The day outside the glass
Explodes with tiny hubs
Of green, flickering between
The blue of sky and the deeper
Chasm of the coming heat,
Although up here in the hills
The remains of winter
Are still obsessed with death,
When these temporary frills
Will shiver back into their hulls
And the sky will loom
With monochromes,
With frescoes fitted to
Our stony, sleeping room,
And its sheets of coming snow.

Tippet Alley
May 25th, 2016