Frigid Thaw

A late cold snaps heads to prayer,
they yield to an early death.
Not full flowered – it was too soon,
they never got to dance.

Like my friend, Anne,
they curtsied to a cancer
that crept through chilled nights.
The palette knife’s rich color,
like a wintery solvent,
weakened under the frigid thaw.

Wasted limbs,
fragile bodies,
withered memories –
all forced to an untimely rest.

Each morning
I check for another disaster.