in the raw midst of winter
the clouds surface, ready to collapse –
the unfurling fruition of smoke
winds a path, a translucent sash
through the absolute still,
the only entity willing to shift –

moving from night to inside a shift
in ambience as the dredging of winter
dissolves into an aura of warmth and still
grasping her glass grandma looks set to collapse
into the chintz armchair, her apron sash
hanging loose at her hip – the chimney billows smoke

out past the ice-laden eves as it mingles with smoke
from next door – the exotic heat causing a shift
in gutter-snow and suspending in air a heavy white sash
arching onto the frosted ground – the bleak nature of winter
has an odd effect, while some near collapse
others are fuelled by the chill and refuse to stay still

even when seated – through the subdued still-
ness come abrasive sounds, tweed hat jammed down and smoke
in hand, a pair of calloused lungs come close to collapse
as a hacking cough causes congealing phlegm to shift
grudgingly – dressed ready for winter
a ginger-topped girl tightens the poppy red sash

securing her layers, picking her way past the mingled sash
of litter and leaves she sweeps past the snow banks, still
enthralled by her imagination within this winter
whimsy, intricate worlds unfold in the misty smoke
of her breath, horse-drawn carriages trundle and shift
before her to make way for a collapse

into giggles – the imminent collapse
of a snow-heavy limb shatters through the ice sash
settling into a trickle that refuses to shift,
its freedom relinquished as it finds itself still –
the leaden layer of distant smoke
melts into city lights glimmering through the grim of winter –

as the seconds collapse in the eternity of winter
the meandering sash of translucent smoke
dwindles and shifts into the interminable still