Late November

like a garden after killing frost
sick-green stems, and crumbling walls
wrinkled squash and fallow corn
in the permafrost

crystal palaces emerge from dirt
and are crushed under clean winter boots
as vapor clouds are drawn into dry morning air.
doubt settles in, like mice in our walls.

meanwhile the furnaces kick on
gas is siphoned through frosted iron
and those pinprick seeds are left to wait
under a blanket of snow.