Mid-October (rev 1.8)

Here we are, not even at the start of winter
and already we perceive the heart of winter,

snowfall clopping down on our necks, a white anvil.
Making us fear its weight: not so smart of winter,

otherwise ingenious of insinuating
itself inside our clothes. Soon a part of winter

blooms in our breath and seeds within our bones, crafty
wizardry invoking the dark art of winter.