Winter
What a weird way to experience this. . .
Something forgotten : everyone has a right to life.
no matter the purpose or value
I
I stood outside
on that cool night
watching the clouds
caught in streams
of wind pass me by.
seams stretched
by tufted fingers
and downy swirls
layering, stacking
the only distinctions
being darker and darker
The pines stood silent and watched
as I watched the moon
open up the clouds. For a brief
moment, maybe more.
Luminous
as if the light
were a broom
brushing away the cloud
and confusion
Layer after layer—
yet, the moon shone
through. And I, the
sentinel—
as if it needed an audience
the wake of clouds piling
back over the heart-orb
sinking deeper into these
inner layers
