clad with
mud of a silent dungeon
I watch my lone fishing line
still mottled with winter stars
eagerly awaiting
for spring to bite

- but winter is too dark today-

seeds of early green sparkle but
keep forgetting how to land
how to bear
the weight of a thousand moons
reflected by their
beautiful eyes

sigh

if only they rained down on me
and did not flutter away like
mists of butterflies drifting
to an open sea

- but winter is too dark today -

with icy blossoms clenched in my hands I

c.r.a.c.k

and rupture into
shards of white dreams and
wrapped poetry
with edges so sharp
they cut life's gleaming light
into an oblivion too dense to bear

hiding in a shelter too deep
the morning rose remains
puncturing each breath I take
with her

(passion forgotten)

.
((language unspoken))

.

.

.
(((((((((land untravelled)))))))))