“Iowa Winter”

A thousand stick follicles
reach to icy skies
from white frozen ground,
shuddering from the wind
and the bitter, cold breath of frost.

Whiteness stretches
from closest ground,
sprawls across fields
of dark stumps
up into the white hazy sky.

The short days clock runs slowly
across the face of winter.
The puffing furnaces blow
constant spokes rings
through the air
while the dogs of spring
yap lightly in the distance
of the farthest frozen farm.