Wednesday, December 03, 2008
Rose light blooms in the clouds. Caresses a heartbeat into snow.
Why do I keep coming here?
Tree branches click a cold cadence in the wind.
The sky is so beautiful. Almost alive.
Every second, it dies.
A gun shot rolls down the valley. Not harsh. Like distant thunder. Too far away.
Maybe it's enough to remember.
But cold is cold, and I like the sting on my hands.
It's easy to lose yourself.
For me, it is. Drift in the twilight.
The moon crescent rises. A cup for the bright planets. Venus. Jupiter.
White rolls its carpet to blue.
Who is walking?
Are my ankles red-ringed with caking snow?
A fragment of me entangles ahead.
Disembodied, in the black net of trees.
Give me five more minutes.
To the trees.
I'll collect my fragments.
Maybe then I'll know.