Where ice shards bit

through sordid grass

lay Pleasure and her foolish past 

once green 

yet now unheard, 

unseen ‘midst shattered glass

 like stemless frozen flowers white…

 while the white cat watches through the window of a train

’til puffs of steam cloud up the pane

‘midst yawns and dreams of fat bottomed rats,

the train does pass

 the frozen fool and his pleasure 

in fields as white 

as January