Light weakly tunnels this cavern alive
with whipped and grabbing trees,
snow-bright stone verging shifty road,
a whole night whiteout wheedling doom.
From culvert-piped mud-shape shoulder,
congregated by cackling overpass, up the gravel
to stave pavement fall-off and tell on treachery,
little orange cone people string along,
big orange barrel people stand aside,
white striped companion horses
steady in their orange net paddocks.