Winter Slap, Red Skin

Freezing rain slaps the window and I dream of power lines weighed down above me. Eyes closed, I hear the redbud softly groan in the backyard and gently lie down. Seduction. Snow breaks like glass under red feet. Have you run barefoot in the snow? It doesn't hurt. Spots of blood dot the frigid landscape. Take off your clothes. Can you see? Once in the moonlight I watched a snaking power line crackle and spark on a wet deserted street. Ancient tree branches creaked and splintered clear pure ice. These days you stomp past the house with outstretched mittened hand, snapping icicles in loud torrential cascades.