This Winter (2nd edit)

[Uncle Vertical]

This winter is a moving cloud
On the gray palette before me.
The leaning fog reaches upward
To meet a lowering shroud.
The days, hidden and diffuse.
The nights, curtained and lifeless.
Nothing distinct, nothing of detail,
Not a break, a star, or an edge to see, I am
Here in the cleft of this rock.
Alone on my watch, in my hour.
Waiting for something eternal.