Dead space

These are the grey dead days
poised between the colour of Christmas
and the shrouded New Year.
Withered leaves curl and fade
while summer’s clinging buds
remain hopeful of a final flowering.
Squinting into the low bright sun
I strain to capture the moment
perfect decaying structures etched
temporarily onto transient memory.
As the late winter sun retreats
I trudge back into the shadows
to release them
like tattered unlikely butterflies
into the unknown.