It was the darkest night,
in the heart of the winter;
I looked up and saw a voided sky. No moon,
no star,
not even clouds to weep
on the crusted ice that froze the land,
the river, formed floes on the ocean’s waves.
..
Looking up, I had not seen –
the others
encircling.
A hand grasped my left,
another my right – palms pressed together:
The chain crossed cracks, ditches, sink holes,
lanes, villages,
highways, cities, counties,
countries,
continents.
..
A slow sound silvered, a hum, a murmur,
a buzz, a song, an aria.
We will hold hands in the dead of
winter.
Winter will have its time, but
we will have an early spring –
in spite of it all.
Reblogged this on To Koskino.
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I found some of your stories on Fiction on the Web. I see I will have to return here as well. Love the poetry.
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