Wednesday, July 17, 2024

A Winter's Eve

Snow falls on branches splayed like fingers,
falls on your dark hair, where it glistens
like a constellation drifting about your shoulders.

Icy stars are set like diamonds in the sky
of this dying year, though I don’t know why.
Perhaps your parted lips and silent breath

have chased away the clouds of this waking dream.
We are so much younger now,
the years having fallen away

as if someone had taken a lathe to time
and shaved away decades, day by day,
as we hold each other in a distant wood,

though I don’t where,
though I don’t know how.
Moonlight slides down the trunks of trees.

An owl hiding inside a hole in the thicket
tells us to kiss, and we do.
Despite the deep blue tones of a winter’s eve,

everything is new again, though not the same,
and the cold air in my lungs
is the energy and seamless soul of you.

The universe is reflected in your eyes,
all places, all things, all time,
but I know better than to question why.

I am content to remain in this moment
of death and rebirth, to rest within
a conversation that need not be spoken.

The evening is caught in time, is clear,
and we both know why,
and we both know why.

~William Hammett


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