"..."

The plate is increasingly full, fat sparse,
the tree that cradles the family nest
is mournful creaking.

Beneath, a dark shroud over
snow pierced with crocus...

The new moon soon 
calling Cornflowers to be sown;
for peace.

We sway, this way-
that way, made of stars
glinting hope over crass hate.

...cigarettes smoked in silence,
alone, between tar stained fingers,
no time for tears, fears but
calm

(and cussing).