It was Winter 1st
   not long ago,
the longest night
lay bare next to me
    like a dream
     that passes
        silently,  
     then recurs —
hearing the silence
   whisper softly
as a colorless echo

      Withal —
    the shortest
    yesterdays,
half light minutes,
grey wintry mood
     moments,
  without hope
   of blue sky
impending lightly:

      Alone,..
   even a glass
      half full
under a solstice
     full moon,
  is only a glass
     partly full
  of moonlight

Twice as much
       silence
still leaves you
   half empty;
  and every tear
tastes the same
     in winter


Jesse stillwater — winter 2018