noon’s brisk air
beckons–
yet, i dig in
deeper
sinking myself
further..
to be forgotten
by december.
shadow play
a moment
away
was all i needed to
miss home,
and in filling this
free space
may i no longer
feel alone.
when i’ve ceased
climbing
for fear of
slipping
i’ve grown too known to
my surroundings
and miss the noise
of strangers,
but do they miss
my whisper
amidst the
blurred out crowd?
you had more
light
than we would
burn
off
with
friction,
causing sparks
couldn’t be
turned
off
but we prefer
it dark.
a hanging
shadow–
i pass through
you
notice not my
whisper
in blind attempt
to catch your focus
if only for the
moment.
was not prepared to
feel so stripped
by the threat of
one stranger
with a pressing need
to be heard
while i could
not lend
ears.
she offered
amity,
i leant a heart
to be seen
and touched with
childish
hands
reaffirming that
feeling
is worth the
danger
of running naked
through my
mind,
still offering such
charity
in your words
for me,
when all i crave
is truth,
for it bridges the
disparity
between what you
say and
do.
each snowflake shares
a story
to those with
ears for
quiet
nestled in between
the hours
we rest as though
in death.
we’ll blow lost
shadows
kisses,
until their groans
grow weak,
we’ll hush our
thoughts
stirring or
not
let’s let this
graveyard sleep.
hands in the garden 
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