Lie through that open night,
stinging frosts of contemplation,
wooden hands scratching away rest from frozen windows,
the pulled out ageing creak of a forgotten floorboard.
All you can do is listen. Never hearing the sweet purr of peace  only
its disheartening cousin of silence. Never slipping out of now and its  pulsing hum.
Never  brushing against yourself and waking up in a sleep,just listening.

Air is now a solid icy chore, a darkened perception of magnified regret.
It drowns in the snowflakes of the stars, not attempting to escape, simply surrending to the openess.
Can you be like a sleepy diamond?The eye of heaven glares louder now
and still has not reached its peak.
No you like the floor board lie fixed in the night,
listening