Over where the ragged people go

is a field

of frost cackling underfoot

grass that bends and snaps

at the ends

Over where the ragged people go

seas rage, boiling

feathers and fins

sleek bodies and

wings

Over where the ragged people go

I see

just the tip

of your ear

poking out from beneath spreading rubble

catching like shadows

on the footpath

Over where the ragged people go

you see me

an outline with no body

framed

by the wind.

Over where the ragged people go

under clouds upon clouds

peeling snow