All pictures taken around Slaithwaite, West Yorkshire during the last few winters.
WHAT WINTER DECIDES
I could smear the early sky lilac
as the temperature dips, or pound
charcoal stormcloud with frigid fists
till it blooms livid,
puce-black bruises from slips.
I am the violet stain on lips,
the solid translucence which tricks
the soles and smashes hips,
colours the landscape of my bitter grip:
vermilion drips from the freshly-cut knee,
blue-tinged hoar-frost coating bush
and lawn, or faint aquamarine drifting
against doorhole and gatepost at dawn.
Freezing each field, numbing each tree.