In
the limitlessness
of
these rich unending winter
nights
alights the spirit
of
the human mystery –
that
our obliquely sired history
is
made of layered dark.
Park
closely to the curb of sleep
and
creep as deeply as you can
into
the heart of its enumerating
secrecies,
my dear –
and
do not fear you will not
wake
nor try to wake too soon.
Break
from all the splinters
of
December noon –
and take up Winter’s moon..
No comments:
Post a Comment