Winter started weeks before the December solstice,
the earliest encroachment of any winter, in any year in memory.
Malevolent wind abrades the gorge before it bothers the shingles
like idle, insistent fingertips.
This is the coldest winter I can remember
(as if memories are any more reliable
than anything else).
Memories are elegantly compacted
mechanically reduced,
painful parts extruded and slagged
so that each time is now
the worst, uncalibrated to the cold and blizzards of year's past
with more contained in us than we can recall.
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