Eternal Spirit of the chainless Mind!
Brightest in dungeons, Liberty, thou art;
For there thy habitation is the heart—
The heart which love of thee alone can bind;
And when thy sons to fetters are consigned,
—To fetters, and the damp vault’s dayless gloom—
Their country conquers with their martyrdom,
And Freedom’s fame finds wings on every wind.
Chillon! thy prison is a holy place,
And thy sad floor and altar, for ’twas trod,
Until his very steps have left a trace,
Worn, as if thy cold pavement were a sod,
By Bonnivard.—May none those marks efface!
For they appeal from tyranny to God.

such hands as amongst
what drowsy bolts
of Summer
--i can recall

them hands
as brittle soft
as tough easy drunk
uncoiling so firmly
their thighs a flower between broke.

(a bright naked flower a dull wilting flower)

it snapped 19 at the little lake of its;
there was a gorgeous sound

and you and i
and all the ******
nights, dayless
splangling hung
furiously through
that tiny filament
of your hips the very small death of clean.

Smell the snow in a forest so quiet something seems wrong with your hearing.

Your forehead carries the permanent imprint of your headlamp.

Indirect light colors the sky, mountains blue, ocean blue, sky orange and yellow, night stripes of green.

Above the number of stars is beyond understanding.

Green lights roll over mountains and hit you in the head.

No one will see dust on your floor.

The full moon makes a movie-set feel bright enough to read by.

What darkness can do, make your mood dive.

Three moose and two eagles join your dayless days.

Children run around playing in the dark.

Build a snowcave, fill it with candlelight, everything just stops.

Life doesn’t stop.

Sounds of frost biting the corners, ice singing.

Footsteps on snow reflect smallest glimmers of light.