Apparition of Wintertide

I saw the end of things, 

the window shattered

from the flapping gale 

of a powdered moth's wings

the frost pinches sunlight

and whines through my bones,

some breath—shelved in jars

my kings, thaw on thrones

crowned choice: out of chances.

those days reappear 

through portals that gape

between the barren branches.