Wintry berries

dead at the tips

of snow-sagged branches

red as blood-inked lips.

Wintry oceans

tucked into bed

with the earth beneath it,

people on its head.

Wintry mountains

with caves of bone;

littered leather;

scarred, gnawed stones.

Wintry people

smite snow-grey cheeks.

No blush no flush--

the world’s too dead to eat.