(January 1, 2017)
Up here on the hill, a north-easterly
with ice on its edges
all the way from the Arctic into my bones.
Cold bites in corners — there is no nibbling;
teeth go deep,
clear sharp bites
sink into the core to catch the breath.
A bitter sting in the face hardens shivers on skin,
pulls hairs on end as she hauls and thrusts
through the layers of my body.
Fresh new air, the cool of new year air,
is driven into my lungs.
And old clouds of grey vapour
disappear into distance.