some days i am the wind that whistles through the trees;
some days i am the leaf it brings to the river;
some days i am the water that carries it downstream;
some days i am the rock around which it passes.

some days i am the moth alighting,
desperately drying,
eyes ever turned to the missing moon.

my cheek freezes to the inside of the mask,
and i bow my head with the sprouts
succumbing to layers of ice.

the imperative is to last.

16 February 2015 19:33

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