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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