Merry Christmas Eve
Snow (first published by the impPress 2012)
Today the streets are blank pages
as though the storyteller misplaced
both the inkwell and the tale.
The path leading down from the house
has faded, fallen from its bones
below a threshold of deafness.
The silver, winter chains of light
sketch vague outlines of what hides,
unable to speak, beneath.
The day shrinks to something small
and sinister. You begin to despair through
the unreadable fog at your feet.
And then you see the first December
footprints glittering like a narrative in the snow.
Today the streets are blank pages
as though the storyteller misplaced
both the inkwell and the tale.
The path leading down from the house
has faded, fallen from its bones
below a threshold of deafness.
The silver, winter chains of light
sketch vague outlines of what hides,
unable to speak, beneath.
The day shrinks to something small
and sinister. You begin to despair through
the unreadable fog at your feet.
And then you see the first December
footprints glittering like a narrative in the snow.
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