soniacookbroen
Untitled
the reflection is daunting on days like this
when the white air pricks my skin
and the gray of the street seems impossible
to exist so colorless
my body desires to float into the space between your arms
the closed clasped hand
encircling my frame
Alas winter is here to stay and these tiny adjustments must be made
the turning of the hands on my clock
and christmas lights
await silent flakes of snow
everwhite
shimmering in the silver glint of frozen moonlight
an order to existing in the realm of seasons
an order to follow the clock divided by quarters
she is here our dark and precise friend
who freezes our lakes into glass
and buries the land in her pristine blankets
tainted by man’s ever present desire to push forward
against any force
or formidable season’s worst doing.