Acrtic Winds

it was cold
a slice of the arctic
pressed up against their hearts
and splashed in their faces
with all the finesse of a first year mortician
an intern at best,
it's crazy how the wheels do turn
late at night,
rotating on some level of misguided sanity
trying to make sense
of the birds in the window
such beautiful birds,
slathered with shades
of indifference, it seemed
as they called to their mates
but no one heard them
it was much too late
past midnight, I think.
the lights were dimmed
heavens dark,
only the stars out
faltering in the pouty skies
to mock and taunt
as the silly red robins
fell to the ground,
clueless.
without a prayer...