As the reach of shadows lengthen
and the world turns cold and indifferent,
the soul seeks to find its way home,
a place it's never been, teased by instinct.

As the earth’s own shadow cloaks a world
the body rests and the mind dreams,
leaving the soul to wander,
across the earth in its lifelessness.

As the world makes peace with itself,
where the night sky betrays its cold demeanor,
and dawn's light misses its cue, spilling early
the flames borne from a snowfall's sky.

As porchlights pierce and dot a peaceful haze,
the snow naturally draped over me like a blanket,
and so I had to watch the world with wonder
and a certain comfort.

yellow streetlights call us home
in memory, as so in childhood

i remember a rich wisteria night sky,
pouring a soft and silky rain of immaculate crystals.
at the bottom of the cul-de-sac, three inches of snow on the mailbox
my parents ushered me inside, afraid i’d get cold, but i forgot to be.

a yellow streetlight illuminated the flowing wisps
who became snow when they touched down onto the earth
i swore that they winked to me in their final moment
through the glistening of their eyes

i remember catching them, wanting to save them
but they melted into my hands instead or got lost in my warm breath
yet even in their demise, they winked
and with ever-glistening eyes, said goodbye to me

this is to where my soul would first wander
after its body freed it at last,
where a bed of jovial wisps across the whole cold earth
could tuck me in under the yellow streetlight

A Direct line to the eye’s sight, first time,
Under a morning seeming streetlight, was a blow
to the upper bounds of my notions of the eye color
I longed to deep dive in. An absolute nothingness, when it came to the words outspoken
to a body and a mind, sitting next to me, so it came down to
not all the things and happenings having reasons and
not consoling a needy in fear of an upside down doing failure, and like between life and death are only breaths,
the silence between the sentences was filled with ours’
and deaths by chocolate, and thoughts of silences
of the other’s mind, unheard of, aware only of
unbeknownst wind of familiarity of an unknown kind.