Winter

A dog shrieks in misery from a bridge To heaven... which stands like old gray stone Upon far-off houses. And, like a rope Made of tar, a dead river lies on the snow. Three trees, black frozen flames, make threats At the end of the earth. They pierce With sharp knives the rough air, In which a scrap of bird hangs all alone. A few street lights wade towards the city, Extinguished candles for a corpse. And a smear Of people shrinks together and is soon Drowned in the wretched white swamp.