slowly the days get shorter
sparse celebrations
dot the landscape
everything dies, at least
for now
i spend my days counting carefully
the minutes of daylight
the moments of relief from the biting cold
when i’m not counting,
i’m not here, not now
but with the desolate remnants
i’m 6 years old in the backseat
on a cold dark night
the first time i met death,
around the time i learned to wish for it
or i'm outside my first apartment
no home to return to
tears pouring over
a golden blanket of ginkgo leaves
or i'm somewhere else, deep down in
each moment, watching the ice creep
around the dancing shadows
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