Day 300: Still Morning

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∴

it is still
now.

the branches are flag poles
erecting frozen little banners,
browned and flocked
and crisp with age.

 

no bird flies.

 

the ground, especially,
is more fixed than most.

a blanket of earth-bound constellations
glitter on her skin

as the low, winter sun
catches crystals
like dumbstruck fireflies
that do not twinkle,
but illuminate
and hold.

 

even the grasses hold their breath.

 

is it over?
has the storm passed
and gone?

 

if it weren’t for all this icy, white water on the plain,
i’d swear we’re in a drought.

 

my throat is parched from praying.
my lips are cracked from wind.
my fingers have lost their feeling,

but my eyes still see.

my eyes still see still mornings
whilst my soul stands, still mourning
in the aftermath of it all.

 

ah, there:
a branch is disturbed by a breeze.
i shall smile, now
and move what blizzards petrify.

∴

 

 

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