Low Winter Sun

Roof-hugger, blinding horizons;
your obstinate, unfeeling glare
effects a flip down of sun-visors
within our sluggish engine-cold car.
 
You cold-shoulder the morning's glaze
and strain for lift-off, bound
to flat parabola's insipid haze,
you heave to sky from heavy ground.
 
Our heat is light-years gone;
our fiery origins a dying star;
in icy days, a nuisance flare
that irritates with eye of stone.