Portrait

Cycling, as always on the wrong side of the road

to the campus,

as unsuspecting as on

any Monday morning,

I  confront winter :

a tree all alone

with branches forlorn

and leaves stripped off;

yet, rides away, only faster,

no turning back

no second look.

Winter, I don't want to write about you.

The way you devour the colours and 

turn everything into a grey,

the way your every image

manifest loneliness,

oh winter, putting it down on paper,

I always end up

doing something i would never want to do,

a self portrait.